


Who We Are, And What We Are Meant To Be

by coffeeincluded



Series: The Beasts Within [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Daemon Feels, Daemons, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Harm to Daemons, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Teenagers Making Bad Decisions Because They're Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 163,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeincluded/pseuds/coffeeincluded
Summary: How do you hide your true nature when it walks the world beside you, for everyone to see?You can't. So, what then?Or: If Edelgard believed in signs, she’d struggle to think of one stronger than this. Dimitri’s worst moments haunt him like the ghosts. Claude is a trickster, a schemer; might as well own it. And something is Wrong with Byleth.Or: The daemon AU nobody asked for.





	1. Setting The Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/212036) by [Poetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/pseuds/Poetry). 
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard, Dimitri, Claude, and Byleth settle in different ways.

_ **Enbarr Palace Gardens, 1176 (4 years before present day)** _

  
Edelgard laid back on the grass and watched her beloved Avarine make lazy circles in the air, flying higher up than any daemon should ever go.

  
Avarine noticed the figure approaching Edelgard first and folded her wings into a sharp stoop, only pulling out of the dive at the last minute when she recognized the black hair of Hubert and the orange fur of Thanily, the fox daemon by his side. Hubert, for his part, was unfazed by the enormous gyrfalcon very nearly digging her talons into his face and merely lifted a hand in greeting.

  
“Lady Edelgard, Lady Avarine, it is good to see you out in the open air.”

  
Edelgard folded herself into a sitting position and regarded Hubert with a mild smile. For a moment she debated deflecting what was on her mind, but no. This was Hubert and Thanily. She could trust them. “…Near the end there, I thought I would never see the sun again.”

  
Hubert merely closed his eyes, and so it was Thanily who took a step forward and spoke. “Lady Edelgard, I must again beg your forgiveness for our failure to rescue you from—”

  
“Enough, Thanily. You too, Hubert. You would have joined me in those dungeons if you had stayed. In any case you learned valuable information while searching for me down there. And…you saved my brothers and sisters.” A pause. “What was left of them anyway.”

  
“I did not save them, I killed—”

  
“They would have thanked you, if they had been able to do so.”

  
The awkward silence hung in the air until Avarine cried out, “I still don’t understand why. What was the point of kidnapping and torturing El, and my brothers and sisters, and dozens of innocent people, and for what? To shove another Crest into El when she already had one proving our legitimacy? I mean, I know why they did it, but I still don’t understand why they did it! Why does every single nation on this fucking continent have such a fetish for Crests?!” She flashed her wings and screeched.

  
Hubert sat down beside Edelgard. His face was as impassive and icy as always, but Edelgard could see the way he dug his fingers into Thanily’s fur, had been for the past several minutes actually. “Because Crests are how the nobles and the Church maintain control. The Church makes Crests the sum of a person’s worth, and the nobles enforce it because that is how they maintain power.”

  
“And on and on it goes, the nobles oppressing the people they are supposed to protect while tormenting their children to fit the mold of the Church, their children grow up doing the same, and all the while the Church steps on our throat and we thank them for it,” Edelgard added. “The ones who tortured me and my siblings are evil and need to be destroyed, but the only way we can make a world where people aren’t chained by a magic birthmark is to dismantle the system itself!”

  
Hubert simply listened and nodded. “And why is gradual reform not an option?” It sounded almost like the first half to a call and response.

  
“Because people will continue to suffer and die while ministers hem and haw and do nothing! Not to mention that there is no way the Church would tolerate any separation of religion from state affairs. The moment I publicly call for reform or a deemphasis of crests they’ll at best overthrow me in a coup like what happened to Father or at worst brand me a heretic and publicly execute me after some show trial. And I’d rather not have my head on a pike at Garreg Mach while the rest of my corpse is burned and chucked into the river, thanks.” She scowled. “Come on Hubert, you know this. Why are you asking me?”

  
“I ask you because, unfortunately, even with your Crest and position as next Emperor, unless both the Sword of the Creator and someone who can use it somehow fall into our laps,”

  
“—Which they won’t—”

  
“Then I fear that the only way we can obtain the power to defeat the Church and break this cycle is to obtain the aid of our “friends” in the dark.”

Edelgard and Avarine stared at Hubert and Thanily in horror and disgust. Avarine broke the silence first. “You can’t be serious. After everything you saw, after everything they did?”

  
Hubert clenched the ground, his nails digging shallow furrows into the earth. “As much as it disgusts me, I am perfectly serious. They had the ability to infiltrate the highest echelons of the Adrestian empire. Some of the information I…obtained while searching for you hinted at moles they have planted within the Central Church itself. If we are going to topple an institution as mighty as the Church of Seiros itself, we need all the help undermining it we can get. And then, afterwards, they will pay. Furthermore, if we work with them, we may be able to curb the worst of their sadistic excesses. From what we know about those who slither in the dark, I doubt your blood was enough to satisfy them."

  
Edelgard sat up, her face settling back into that mask of determination. Meanwhile, Avarine flew up into the sky screaming profanities into the open air. “I suppose we have no other option then. At least, until we have broken the chains the Church has bound us with. Then we can wipe out our “friends” in the dark from their nests.”

  
“And I pledge to walk with you every step of the way.” Hubert stood and bowed, low and deep. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was still a gangly teenager with acne scars pitting his chin, but his intimidating demeanor would come with time.

  
Avarine, eventually, flew back to Edelgard and perched on her shoulder. Her talons dug into Edelgard’s clothes and she made a mental note to have the tailors reinforce all of her outfits with shoulder padding, now that Avarine was going to be a gyrfalcon for good. Avarine, for her part, just glared a grinning Thanily. “What, what is it?”

  
Thanily laughed, more of a sinister chuckle than anything else. “Oh no, it’s just funny how big a mistake your tormentors made,” she said. “I mean, look at you, Lady Avarine. You’re a gyrfalcon! They rule the frozen northern skies. They nest on cliffs where none can reach. They chase wyverns out of their skies! Lady Edelgard, that means you’re something of a gyrfalcon too. And they thought they could break you?”

* * *

_ **A Battlefield In Western Faerghus, 1178 (2 years before present day)** _

  
The world took its time fuzzing back into focus. Sound returned first, a distant echoing that pierced the din of battle, the screams and moans of the wounded and dying.

  
“—mitri? Dimitri?!”

  
Someone was calling his name. A black-haired smear was a few feet away, or maybe really close, but either way was shouting his name. The rest of the world was still fuzzy, but he could start to feel that his hands and face were wet and sticky and he was gripping the shaft of something and his daemon could smell blood everywhere. But he knew that smear of a black-haired…man, yes a man, shouting his name above the roar of scrambled senses.

  
“…Glenn?” he asked, almost pitifully. And yet as Dimitri spoke the name soured on his tongue. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong. There was Glenn but there was only Glenn where was, “Where’s Argentia?”

  
The black-haired figure froze, snapped straight up, took a step back but Argentia didn’t because Argentia _was not there_ because—

  
—_oh_—

  
—Because the figure that snapped into focus all at once wasn’t Glenn but Felix and Felix’s daemon was not Argentia but Bismalt and Argentia had been a musk ox, solid and strong, but Bismalt was an iridescent blue Brigidnese fighting fish currently staring at him from inside an enchanted capsule firmly strapped to Felix’s side and Glenn was dead.

  
And Felix, one of his best friends, a boy he used to go ice skating with in the depths of winter, was staring at him in horror and disgust and betrayal. And Bismalt was staring at Delcabia with the same look on his face.

  
“Dimitri, what the fuck was that?!”

  
Dimitri could only mumble in blank incomprehension. What was Felix shouting about? All the noise, the screams, it was so much. He looked down. There was a lance in his hands. The lance was soaked in blood. His hands were soaked in blood. There was blood and worse smeared on his face, spattered over his clothes. Felix had blood on him too, but nothing like Dimitri. Ah, right. The rebellion. They had gone to quell this rebellion. They had gone into battle and he had raised his lance and Delcabia had been by his side and—

  
“You didn’t answer my question! What the _fuck_ was that?! What the _fuck_, Delcabia?!”

  
Dimitri still felt like he was swimming up to the surface of a very deep lake. “Delcabia?” He turned around, and there was his daemon with the same slightly glazed-over look on her face. But his eyes slid a bit further down from hers and both pairs snapped into focus as they realized just what Felix and Bismalt were screaming about.

  
Ever since…since Duscur…Delcabia had taken the form of bison, moose, large animals with horns and tusks and hooves, great beasts as big as daemons can get that protect their young from the lions and wolves. Delcabia was still one of those forms, a boar this time, but that wasn’t what got Dimitri’s attention.  
Her tusks were dark red, dripping with blood.

  
She had gored people. Delcabia had gored people. His Delcabia, his beloved, wretched, vile Delcabia had _gored people_.

  
And he was so lost in bloodlust that he hadn’t even known she had done it.

  
“Delcabia,” Dimitri croaked, he begged, his voice suddenly hoarse, “Please, become something else. A rat, a bug, anything.”

  
But Delcabia simply stared at the ground. Blood dripped off her tusks in slow drops. Ghastly hands clawed their way up from the ground to snatch at her hocks, her hooves. Then Dimitri blinked and they were gone. “…I’m sorry Dimitri. I can’t.”

  
“No,” Dimitri begged, bile building up in the back of his throat. “No, you can’t mean that! Now? From _this?!_”

  
Delcabia simply looked past him, helpless, as the din of battle and the exhortations of vengeance from the everpresent ghosts echoed around them both. And then Dimitri and Delcabia heard a laugh from the only other living person around, high and bitter and broken.

“Of course, of fucking course! Dimitri the boar prince; I can’t think of a better shape for you!”

* * *

_ **Khalid’s Study, Almyran Royal Palace, 1177 (3 years before present day)** _

  
The feast to celebrate Simurg’s settling had lasted well past midnight, and Khalid was both exhausted and mildly hungover, but he still found himself hunched over an enormous bestiary with a steaming cup of pine needle tea and a plate of baklava on one side of the tome and Simurg stretched out for inspection on the other. The book was currently opened to a sketch and description of a viper with a broad head, dark zig-zagging bands running down its full length, and a distinctive rattle on its tail. Simurg was a little darker than the image depicted in the book, but there was no doubt. She had settled as a timber rattlesnake.

  
“Well,” Simurg said, eventually, “At least being a wyvern rider is still an option?”

  
Khalid rubbed the heels of his hands against his face with a groan. It did absolutely nothing to alleviate his headache. “The problem is that you’re a viper. And as much as that’s both badass and completely appropriate in retrospect, it does mean we’ll attract unwanted attention. Well, even more unwanted attention. Point is, if we had trouble staying inconspicuous before, we’re really going to have a hard time of it now.”

  
“To be fair, I think that ship sailed after what you did to Assar.”

  
“Hey, don’t pin this on me! The bait was your idea and you’re half of me anyway. And besides, Assar had it coming. If he really wanted to be considered for that post, or really anything with any chance of advancement, then he should have thought twice before trying to blind me out of the line of succession!” That was a stupid rule anyway, saying that heirs to the Almyran throne needed to be physically perfect, whatever that meant. Did nothing but encourage infighting and left a lot of mutilated royals around. There had to be a better way.

  
Simurg would have shrugged, if she still had shoulders. Instead she just flicked her tail in the air and let the sound echo. She wasn’t sure if she liked this substitute yet. “I’m just saying, this is what we are. Not like I could have hidden it for much longer.”

  
Khalid leaned back in his chair and groaned. “I know, I kn—ow!” His last word broke off into a muffled shout as he tipped his chair back too far and crashed against the ground. Simurg simply slithered down from the desk and over the chair, onto Khalid’s legs which still dangled over the now-upturned edge of the chair. She looked down and flicked out her tongue at Khalid, who stared balefully up at her with his hair unkempt over his eyes and his arms awkwardly splayed out. He offered her an upturned middle finger in return, then proceeded to continue his thoughts while still toppled over. “It’s just that nobody’s going to underestimate us anymore. And that’s both satisfying and scary. It’ll be harder to stay ahead of our enemies now.”

  
“Actually…I think we can still outsmart them,” Simurg said. She slithered back to the desk as Khalid stumbled to his feet. He sat back down in the chair, made a valiant but ultimately futile attempt at smoothing down his bedhead, and took to sipping his tea and nibbling at the baklava. The tea had a slightly acidic edge to it, and the honey dripping from the baklava was just as sweet against his teeth. He chewed and motioned for Simurg to continue. “Okay, there’s no hiding that we’re a schemer now, but everyone else was figuring that out regardless of what I settled as. But they still won’t know what we’re scheming about.”

  
Khalid sat and chewed his baklava, smiling as he stroked the stubble on his chin that was his attempt at growing a proper Almyran beard. As Khalid was all of fourteen the attempt was more a few pathetic bits of stubble than anything else, but his daemon said nothing. Better to let him dream. Either way, the sly smile creeping across Khalid’s face was a response enough to her idea.

  
“We can’t hide it, but we can deflect it.”

  
“And then lie in wait to strike. Nobody will ever see us coming.”

  
“We’ll show them just what an outsider can do.”

  
Khalid smiled, Simurg squeezed his arm, and they both went back to reading the bestiary’s entry on timber rattlesnakes. Their lifespan, their hunting habits, their habitats.

  
“Native to the deciduous forests of eastern Fodlan…Hey, Simi, what do you think about visiting your formsake?”

* * *

_**Garreg Mach Monastery, 1159 (21 years before present day) - Remire Village, 1174 (6 years before present day)**_  
  
Something was horribly wrong with his daughter.

  
Jeralt had dreamt of holding his child for months now. He had dreamt of him and his wife holding a laughing and smiling child, all three of their daemons nestled together sharing in warmth and love. But his wife was dead, and his daughter…might as well be, it seemed. After that terrible day, when Rhea walked out of that room with an unreadable expression and a small bundle in her arms…well, all Jeralt remembers of those gray days is sitting with his breathing but silent daughter in his arms, Domaghar occasionally nudging her limp daemon with her nose and begging them to move, or shift forms, or do anything at all.

  
Byleth was alive, at least technically. She breathed, she ate, she shat. But that was it. Even in those first few days of life she never laughed, she never cried. She barely followed his gaze. And her daemon, Belial, was a disturbingly wan and listless thing, as grayed-out as Jeralt’s world had become and so frail-looking that he was afraid they would crumble to pieces in a stiff wind.

  
And then he took her to a doctor in town, one not under Rhea’s direct command, and he learned that Byleth somehow had a pulse but no heartbeat—and what the everloving fuck did _that_ mean?!—and he realized with a clawing horror that Rhea must have done something terrible to his baby girl. So that night he started a fire, put what possessions he could onto Domaghar’s back—she was a draft horse, she could easily carry him and his belongings—and took off into the night while clutching Byleth and Belial close to his own hammering heart. It wasn’t until they saw the far southern shores of the Empire that Domaghar slowed her gallop and Jeralt allowed himself to breathe, and finally focus on the near-impossible task of raising a husk of a child alone.

  
Byleth did improve from those early dark days, slowly. She was smart. She learned to speak, and read, and swing a sword very quickly. She and Belial both had a strange presence about them, something that made people pay attention even through their uncannily empty gaze. She had a knack for teaching others. She didn’t like seeing other people upset, and was good at listening to them. But she still never laughed, never cried. Never expressed any more emotion than the faintest smile or frown. As intelligent as she was, as quick on her feet when it came to rote learning, Byleth was creatively…sterile. She never doodled, or sung to herself, or made up stories, or even expressed the creativity to lie. And Belial almost never changed form without prompting, rarely played with Byleth or Domaghar or any other daemon. Some days they seemed more like an ordinary animal than anything else. Some days Byleth and Belial barely seemed to acknowledge each other, and even on the best days there seemed to be no limit as to how far they could stand to be away from each other. Some days, it seemed like they weren’t aware of anything at all.

  
Other days were better, and Jeralt soon learned that they tended to be associated with Byleth’s recurrent dreams of a great battle, or a strange young girl with green hair sleeping on a throne. He grew to yearn for the nights Byleth had those dreams, because for several days afterwards both his daughter and her daemon would be more alert and aware, would be closer to, well, normal. They would smile, explore, ask questions, be _present_ in a way they otherwise never were. On those days their seemingly infinite range was invaluable; Belial could easily scout out enemy camps and formations and report back without being spotted. But invariably, after several days, the effects of the dreams would wear off and Byleth would sink back into her torpor.

  
The years passed, the dreams happened more frequently, and Jeralt and Domaghar learned to read the miniscule emotions on Byleth and Belial’s faces, but his daughter’s heart still never beat. She still never laughed. Never cried. Not even when she was twelve, came up to her father with blood-stained smallclothes, and flatly stated that she was dying. Not even afterwards, during that horribly awkward conversation that ended with Domaghar dragging Jeralt off out of sheer embarrassment and returning with one of his female mercenaries to please for the love of Sothis explain this don’t make him do it. Not even when she was sixteen and a bandit smashed her knee in with an axe, damaged the joint so badly that even with magical healing she would need a brace for the rest of her life.

  
It was during that time, while Byleth was convalescing in Remire Village and Belial took advantage of their seemingly-infinite range to patrol, that Jeralt took a job in a village in Alliance Territory. While there, he met a brash and excitable girl with bright orange hair who ran right up and begged him to teach her how to fight and be a mercenary.

  
Well, he couldn’t say no to that, and so Jeralt became an unexpected mentor to Leonie, and sort of a secondary father figure too. It was that second thought he kept turning over in his head as they crept through the undergrowth, Leonie staring at him with unadulterated hero worship while her daemon perched as a small bird between Domaghar’s ears so they could communicate quietly. Jeralt found himself yearning for that kind of relationship with Byleth, a daughter who would grin and laugh and chat about nothing, a daemon who would shift form on their own, perch on Domaghar’s back, and tell stories. And Jeralt found himself grieving, that Byleth would never be able to do any of those things.

  
He hated himself, a little bit, for that. Byleth was his daughter, the most important person in the world. He loved her more than anything. How could he even think of her being different than she was, of being not _her?_ “Don’t think about it,” Doma had said. “We can’t change it. Dwelling only leads to madness.” And so he tried not to.

  
Jeralt returned to Remire a few months later to find Byleth fighting off bandits, because _of fucking course,_ and arrived on the field just in time to see Belial, a wolf this time, crush the daemon of the bandit leader between their jaws. The bandit’s daemon disintegrated into golden dust, the bandit fell over dead, the survivors of the gang fled into the night, and Belial never took another form again.

  
Byleth had settled, and Jeralt swept his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, and everyone in both his troupe and the village cheered and congratulated the young woman and her wolf daemon. There was a feast in her honor, and Byleth gave a tiny smile that only Jeralt knew would have been an ear-splitting grin on anyone else, and Belial wagged their tail once, but that was all.

  
Just _what_ had Rhea done to his daughter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am utterly stuck in Fire Emblem Three Houses Hell and have spent what little spare time I have either playing this game or gushing about this game to friends. I also am in love with Poetry's Daemorphing series, which you can read here on AO3 (how do I link? I literally just made this account). What this means is that I have spent entirely too much time the past couple of weeks figuring out what each character's daemon would be (Sylvain is actually really hard to pin down!), and then I started wondering how that would fit in with the Three Houses canon, and well here we are. 
> 
> For those who don't know, daemons are sort of a manifestation of a person's soul. A daemon usually, but not always, identifies as the opposite gender to what the human identifies as. Daemons can only travel a few feet away from their people. A child's daemon can transform into any animal, but some time during puberty when the child grows up and has a more set-in-stone personality the daemon "settles" into a single shape that best exemplifies said personality. This is considered a major life change and is nearly uniformly celebrated. It is taboo for a human to touch another person's daemon or vice-versa outside of dire emergencies or the most intimate relationships; doing so is often likened to metaphysical sexual assault. Here's a wiki if you want to know more! https://hdm.fandom.com/wiki/Dæmon
> 
> I do intend to make this a series of sorts, although updates will be more sporadic (I am a veterinarian in my year-long rotating internship which means I have literally no free time) than I'd like. There will likely be relationships in the future, depending on how the story goes, and the rating may change for similar reasons. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> For reference, here are the characters and their daemons mentioned in this chapter:  
Edelgard and Avarine (female gyrfalcon)  
Hubert and Thanily (female red fox)  
Felix and Bismalt (male betta fish, called a Brigidian fighting fish in this world)  
Dimitri and Delcabia (female boar/wild pig)  
Claude and Simurg (female timber rattlesnake)  
Jeralt and Domaghar, (female draft horse)  
Byleth and Belial (non-binary wolf)


	2. A Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sothis wakes up, our three lords find an unexpected ally, and Byleth has one of her best days in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, everyone! I'm sorry for how long it took to do this chapter, but multiple 15+ hour workdays don't leave much time for fun. I think if I split it up into smaller chunks it'll be easier to handle. I hope you're all doing well.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of the story! It’s been quite some time since I worked on an extensive creating writing project like this. Most of my non-conversational writing has been limited to bullet-point campaign notes, and work-related stuff.

_ **Remire Village, 1180 (present day)** _

  
Even before Belial padded over and nosed her hand Byleth knew it was going to be one of the Good Days. Might even be one of the Best Days, actually; for the first time she could remember the green-haired girl with the ethereal garb in her dreams had spoken. Had asked for her name.

Belial’s cold nose against the warm skin of her palm shook her out of her drifting reverie. “I think Dad’s been calling you for a while,” they said, cool and level. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

Her dad was just outside, talking to Domaghar as he adjusted the armor on her flanks and legs. His senses were keen, honed by years of battle, and he turned around before she and Belial had even entered the room. His gaze flitted down to Belial, how they were walking alongside Byleth instead of meandering around like some disinterested half-tame animal, and his face broke into an easy smile. Was that relief on his face? She’d been alive for however many years and still couldn’t really tell.

“Byleth! One of the Good Days then? Which dream was it this time, the girl or the battle?” There was always a weight to those words, a certain emphasis that Byleth herself had picked up over time without thinking. Byleth dreamt of the girl, and so this was a Good Day. It certainly felt like a discrete Day in her mind, an individual day to be noticed and interacted with alongside Belial instead of a hazy blur that drifted by. That’s probably what her dad meant by a Good Day, although whenever she asked why she was the only one who seemed to have Good Days and Bad Days he’d just change the subject.

“And Doma isn’t talking either. I’ve tried,” Belial muttered.

Byleth shook her head and tried to focus on their upcoming mission. But then one of the greener mercenaries ran into the room shouting something about a bunch of teenagers under attack and their plans changed very quickly.

* * *

Edelgard and Avarine. Dimitri and Delcabia. Claude and Simurg. Byleth repeated those names like a mantra with every footstep, every swing of her blade. This was one of the Good Days she would be capable of remembering, and so she tried to lock down every detail she could in her head. And Belial was doing the same, even as they viciously shook a jackrabbit clenched in their jaws. The jackrabbit dissolved in a shower of golden dust and her human, a bandit, crumpled to the ground.

Edelgard was a short woman with white hair and ramrod-straight posture, seriousness and discipline drilled into her. She had thick leather shoulder pauldrons on which Avarine perched. Avarine was an enormous white falcon, with dark gray feathers speckled throughout her body. Dimitri was a tall young man with straight blond hair and a carefully put-together demeanor. His daemon, Delcabia, was a large boar with sharp tusks and bristly-looking fur. Where Dimitri was quiet and polite, Delcabia would snort and dig at the ground. Claude was a young man with brown skin, tousled dark curls, and a roguish smile. Which is what made Simurg, the rattlesnake coiled around his upper arm, slightly disconcerting. They had been chased by bandits and stumbled upon her father’s mercenary band. They needed help, and so Byleth and her father took the job. Something about their uniforms made Domaghar pin back her ears and snort in agitation.

Avarine cried out a warning in time for Edelgard to whip around and bury her axe in the onrushing bandit’s guts. Delcabia had pinned another bandit’s daemon to the ground. She stomped on the bobcat’s chest, forced her human to his knees with a pained gasp, an easy target for Dimitri to run through with his battered lance. Claude and Simurg darted through thick undergrowth as one. They would spring up to launch an arrow at an attacker’s throat, then duck back down to move on to the next target. Her father rode on ahead atop Domaghar’s back. Bandits would instinctively shrink back to avoid accidentally touching the horse daemon—the greatest of taboos, even in the thick of combat—only to find themselves the victim of Jeralt’s lance. It was combat, after all. You did what you must to survive.

Byleth, for her part, cut down enemies left and right with her sword. Even on the Good Days she rarely spoke during combat; it was Belial who would bark out orders which Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude would thankfully scramble to obey. They knew Remire, knew just where bandits would be hiding, where the best places to strike would be.

It wasn’t much of a fight. By mid-morning, the fight was mostly over. Claude shot an arrow into the bandit leader (she heard his name shouted above the din, Kostas or something like that), staggering him long enough for Edelgard to lay him out flat with her axe. Claude clutched Simurg to his chest as he lowered his bow and allowed himself a small sigh of relief, Byleth turned around to check on Dimi—

“DIE!!!”

She whipped around in time to see Kostas spring to his feet and charge right at Edelgard. The young woman’s eyes widened, she reached for her dagger. Too slow, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself in time. All these things came to Byleth at once; without even thinking about it she lept in front of Edelgard, blocked the young lady’s body with her own.

A wet tearing sound. The crack of bone. Pain like nothing else blooming through her. All sensation below the pain immediately fuzzing out to a horrible heavy blankness. Somewhere, screams. Then the world froze, and was gone.

* * *

“Honestly, what is wrong with you?! Just what did you think you were accomplishing with that little stunt? Are you trying to get us killed, or are you just that stupid?!”

Hearing returned first, then sight. She was in the cold green room from her dreams. The girl on the throne was there. She was standing this time, and looked very angry.

She groaned in exasperation. “I didn’t think I’d have to teach you the value of our lives, but here we are. I guess I’ll have to guide you and help you protect it from now on. I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Sothis. Though I think I was also called The Beginning, once. Oh, I wish I could remember when, or at least where...”

“...” Byleth simply stared at Sothis (and that name felt…familiar. But where? It definitely wasn’t the name of any human or daemon she had ever met before), her mouth gaping open like a fish. She had absolutely no idea how to respond in this situation. It seemed like Belial didn’t either. Belial was...sitting on the dais next to Sothis’s throne. They didn’t say anything, but they were just looking, expectantly.

Sothis reached over and scratched Belial behind their ears.

Byleth did gasp then, at the sheer...she didn’t even know what. Even in this place outside time and space it should have been an obscenity unlike any other, the kind of violation that even on her worst days should leave her forced to her knees, clawing at her skin in an attempt to tear away the utter wrongness of it. But Sothis petting Belial, scratching their ears, their chin, the thicker fur at the angle of their mandible, felt—fine. Not too different from when she herself would touch Belial, on the Good Days. Belial was even wagging their tail. And Sothis seemed completely unaware of the magnitude of what she was doing.

“Do not fret,” she continued, still petting Belial. The wolf’s tail thumped against the stone floor. “I stopped the hands of time. For now, at least you live.”

Byleth blinked again, still dumbfounded. She should probably say something, shouldn’t she? “Uh...thanks,”

“Really? I save your life and that’s all I get? ‘Uh...thanks’?! Well, I suppose it is temporary. I can only stop time’s hands for some long after all; once they move again the bandit’s axe will tear through your back, and that will be the end of us.”

Well that wasn’t helpful at all. Although... “If you stopped time, can you reverse it?”

Sothis’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “You’re right, of course I can! Oh why did I not realize that sooner? But no matter.” She stepped back and began chanting in a tongue that was both unknown and strangely familiar. A sigil appeared in the air before the girl, and its twin suddenly lit into existence beneath Byleth’s feet. Belial dashed off the dais and joined Byleth.

The world became fuzzy and indistinct again, until all Byleth could see or hear was Sothis. Her green hair, her pointed ears and teeth, the strange garb. The girl in her head was unlike any person she had ever seen. “Now go!” She commanded. “Save the girl, and find the answers we seek!”

And then she was back in the outskirts of Remire. Her body was whole. She could feel her legs. It was mid-morning, Claude was clutching Simurg to his chest as he lowered his bow and allowed himself a small sigh of relief, and in just a moment—

“DIE!!!”

Right on cue the bandit leader was charging at Edelgard. Right on cue, she turned around. And Byleth was still too far away to protect Edelgard _and_ parry the bandit leader at the same time. What was the point of bringing her back then? To watch Edelgard die? To die herself? But Belial was faster, and they were not tethered to Byleth like every other daemon in the world would be to their human. They bolted forward, launched themselves between Edelgard and the charging bandit, and snarled, “Get BACK!”

The bandit leader—Kostas, that was his name, not that it mattered—instinctively stumbled back at the sight of the wolf daemon that suddenly appeared to guard the white-haired woman. Edelgard stepped back as well, drawing her dagger in the same movement. That was all the time that Byleth needed to catch up and draw her blade into a fighting stance.

“What the—how did you get over there?” He staggered back, barely ducked under Byleth’s slash, and then turned to flee. “Demon! I’ll remember this!” He and his hornet daemon took off into the woods, and were gone. Silence fell over the village outskirts, accentuated by the occasional pant for breath. The ground was damp from half-melted snow, stained pink with blood. But the battle was over; Jeralt, Dimitri, and Claude picked themselves up and converged on the two young women standing under the shadow of the watchtower.

“Thank you,” Edelgard said. There was a faint flush to her cheeks. Maybe embarrassment at having been caught off guard? Byleth wasn’t sure. There was one odd thing though. Edelgard was thanking her, giving gratitude, but Avarine was quiet. She didn’t say anything, just stared at Byleth and Belial like they were some new calculation, or prey.

And then Byleth remembered. Belial had raced ahead of her to rescue Edelgard, far outside of any daemon’s range. And Edelgard had seen it all.

* * *

She’d never seen her father so tense or nervous before. Normally after even the most dire of fights, Jeralt could be found slapping his men on the back, teasing or congratulating her, chatting with anybody who approached him, getting rip-roaring drunk in the nearest tavern while Domaghar tried to wedge herself in places that were entirely too small for a horse daemon. But here and now? Her father’s fist was tightly clenched in Domaghar’s mane. Domaghar herself was stiff, her tail lashing back and forth, her ears pinned back. She looked like she was picking her way across some narrow cliff face, not a gently sloped trail through the low mountains of central Fodlan. Jeralt wasn’t even paying more than cursory attention to the nearly-endless stream of chatter from Alois, who somehow managed to possess an ability to hold an entirely different conversation from whatever Erikaf was chatting about while still maintaining focus on both topics. Erikaf herself was also completely oblivious; the otter was perched between Domaghar’s ears and yet somehow completely failed to notice both their tense position and the fact that she wasn’t listening to anything the other daemon was saying.

It had all happened so quickly that Byleth hadn’t registered what had happened until they were already on the road. Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude had approached to thank Byleth and her father, Jeralt was about to take the money and leave with uncharacteristic abruptness, Edelgard had opened her mouth to say something about her identity, and then a large boisterous man in silver armor with an equally loud otter daemon had burst onto the scene with a small battalion in tow while shouting something about the Knights of Serios. Turned out that Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude were not only the heirs to their respective nations, which meant that Byleth and her dad had rescued two princes and a princess, but they were also students at a military academy called Garreg Mach, they were doing a training exercise here when they had been ambushed, things had gone completely sideways, and apparently the silver armored man—Alois—knew her father from somewhere? From long before she had been born? Alois seemed to remember Jeralt fondly, but it didn’t seem like her father felt the same way; at least, not from the way he and Doma went completely stiff and then tried to leave with her. Alois then tried to get Jeralt to rejoin(?) the Knights of Seiros, which her father _really _didn’t like the idea of, but the loud man just wouldn’t take no for an answer. So now here they were, with Alois, Edelgard, Dimitri, Claude, and a battalion of silver-clad infantry.

Oh, and the girl from Byleth’s dreams was now apparently awake and talking to her. Her voice seemed to come from Belial’s general direction, but not from them, and Sothis herself was never anywhere to be seen. This…worried Byleth. Wasn’t hearing voices from someone who wasn’t there a sign of madness?

“_Are you kidding me? I AM here! Or did you just pull the ability to reverse time out of the aether?”_

For all her power, Sothis sounded…young. Emotional, in a way both Byleth and Belial were wholly unfamiliar with. But she did have power, and she was with them now, in a way that she had not been before. Best just to go with it, at least for now.

“Hang on,” said Belial, “If Sothis is awake now, does that mean that we’ll have more Good Days? I hope we do. It’s much better this way, knowing what’s going on, being close to you. And the Good Days aren’t cold like the other days are.”

Byleth looked down at Belial, gave the wolf a quick scratch behind their ears. She hoped the Good Days would continue in the Garreg Mach place, especially if it made her father so worried and had people like the three nobles they had rescued.

_“They really are fascinating people,” _Sothis mused from somewhere behind her eyes. Or maybe Belial’s; it was hard to tell. They were the same being in the end, Byleth supposed. At least, that’s what she was always told about humans and their daemons. _“Tell me, what do you think about them?”_

They seemed like very lively people. They had been chatting amiably with each other, with Alois, with Jeralt, with her this entire trip. They had been teasing, competing, each bragging about themselves and their exploits and their nations, almost like they were trying to recruit her.

Dimitri seemed very open, honest, and friendly, what many people would call a “proper gentleman.” He seemed to embody the concept of chivalry that even Byleth knew his nation valued above nearly everything else. He’d talked amiably with her for quite some time, didn’t seem to mind when she fell silent and simply listened. And yet Byleth had never seen a daemon look or act quite like his, scratching at her hocks, occasionally biting at her flanks. When she thought nobody was watching, Delcabia looked _haunted._

Claude would not stop talking. He chatted about everything and flirted with everyone. He teased, laughed, joked with an easy smile. Almost too practiced in its ease, actually, Byleth began to suspect by the third day.

_“And Simurg doesn’t join in his banter with the others at all,”_ Sothis added.

All three of them were talking, asking questions, wanting to know more about Byleth and it was too much. Too much, too fast. They wanted her to talk and ask questions and interact in a way she didn’t know how to do. So first she trailed off and listened to their conversation, and then she hung back entirely. Belial slunk along beside her. They didn’t talk; they seemed to be off in their own world.

Which is why Byleth startled when she heard Edelgard’s voice soft in her ear. “It’s a lot at once, isn’t it?”

Byleth didn’t jump; she didn’t—couldn’t, for whatever reason—emote enough to express that. But her shoulders did stiffen slightly. “What’s a lot at once?”

“Those two,” Edelgard said, pointing at Dimitri and Claude, who were currently extolling the virtues of their nations’ respective traditional fighting styles. Loudly. “If you need a moment to catch your breath, I understand.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze slid past Edelgard’s face to the falcon perched on her shoulder. Avarine opened her beak to say something, then closed it again. “What?”

“…It’s nothing.”

And that was Edelgard. She was without a doubt polite and regal, calm and poised, charming and charismatic. There was something compelling about her. But she was reserved, reticent. And no matter how charming Edelgard was, Avarine always seemed to be evaluating and calculating someone, something, everything.

They marched for some more time up those steady slopes. The air became colder. Fresh snow blanketed the earth and trees. The trees themselves changed from deciduous trees bare and naked to the mid-winter air to pointed conifers with dark green needles coated with snow. Off in the distance, nestled in the peaks, was a large fortress-like stone structure. Garreg Mach Monastery.

“Byleth,” Domaghar said as they marched, the first time she or her father had spoken to her directly in days. “Come over here.” The horse daemon waited for Byleth and Belial to approach before bending her head down to continue. “Listen to me very closely,” she whispered into Byleth’s ear. Jeralt looked straight ahead at the monastery. His face was impassive, but his eyes flicked downwards to his daughter’s blank expression. “You’re about to enter the lion’s den. Kid, you may not be a lion, but you are a wolf. Take care of these brats. Find your pack. Keep your head down. Because sooner or later they’re going to roar, and when they do you better be ready to howl back.”

What was it about Garreg Mach that scared her father so badly? Byleth wished she knew, but he wasn’t talking. She wasn’t sure if she’d understand anyway. But for his sake, and apparently hers, she needed to try. “I will.”

“Good. I’m proud of you, kid.” Domaghar lowered her head to nuzzle Belial’s, and the wolf nuzzled her back.

They continued to walk up that mountain road as Garreg Mach came larger and larger into their view. What was inside those walls, Byleth figured she’d soon find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is paralleling canon for now, but the butterflies are starting to flap. Did anyone catch any?
> 
> Next time we meet everyone and Byleth chooses a house! What do you think everyone's daemons are, and why? What are your thoughts on everyone's daemon so far? Please let me know what you think of things!
> 
> Also, those of you familiar with daemons might be able to guess just what Rhea did to Byleth...
> 
> New humans and daemons introduced in this chapter (this will be much, much longer next chapter):  
Alois and Erikaf (female river otter)


	3. Branching Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt voices his fears. Claude roasts his classmates. Byleth meets far too many students, and has to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep last night so I ended up working on this chapter (work is going to be so much fun today). It's hard introducing over 20 characters at once! But don't worry, you'll see and hear more of everyone! 
> 
> Check the updated tags, by the way.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments! Comments are food and I love hearing your thoughts, so please let me know what you think!

“I wish this was some kind of mistake, some drunken fever dream, something other than what’s actually happening. Why in the world would Rhea make Byleth a professor?! I figured she’d be made a Knight next to me, or awarded a position as a guard, heck even a janitor! But nope! Apparently, Alois went and recommended that she teach these royal brats based on how she directed them in that skirmish, and I swear to the goddess I’m gonna strangle that fool the next time I see him.

“But Alois has always run his mouth like that; I wasn’t expecting Rhea to actually go along with it! I mean, she’s just a kid, she’s barely older than those brats! I’ve done my best to teach her, and she’s a quick study, but Byleth’s never seen the inside of a classroom in her life. Her education’s consisted entirely of secondhand books, calculating payments, and trying to kill and not get killed in various ways! I…I should have done a better job. I did my best, and for years she and Belial were…” He broke off with a shudder and changed the subject, “But I should have done more…” Jeralt trailed off, staring at the grass before him. It was stiff from the winter chill, covered in a rime of frost.

“Goddess, I just, I wish I knew what Rhea’s playing at. I don’t know why she’s buttering up our kid so much but it kind of creeps me out. You…you were always smarter than me. You’d be able to figure this out.” Jeralt paused to scrub the tears from his eyes. Domaghar let out a soft pained whinny and scuffed at the frozen ground. “I guess that’s the one good thing about being back here. I get to talk to you again.”

There was no answer. Not that Jeralt was expecting one from a grave. He pressed his fingers against the granite, worn and pitted by the years. The grave hadn’t been maintained well, and that twisted hot and painful in his guts. Even his wife’s name had been largely worn away to illegibility, although the engraved image of her daemon was still visible. Jeralt traced his fingers along the depiction of her daemon’s horns, remembering how they felt in life, and failed to hold back his tears. Domaghar rested her head against Jeralt’s shoulder and they stayed there for some time, overwhelmed by it all.

“…The only one against this idea was that Seteth guy,” Domaghar said, breaking her silence since they arrived at the grave. “I wish he had been at the monastery when Byleth was born. He’s the only one around here with any sense.” The green-haired man with the neatly-trimmed chinstrap beard had been the only one to openly object Byleth’s new position, the only one to bring up her youth, her lack of experience, all the reasons she was unqualified to teach nobility. Seteth’s bearded dragon daemon hadn’t even said anything; she had simply clung to his robes and stared at Rhea’s mantis daemon kept safely inside an enchanted capsule like she wanted to eat him and silence his human’s stupidity. But Rhea had worn him down too, eventually. “Something is definitely going on here, and I wish we had the words to describe it.”

“But we don’t. So we’ll just have to keep our eyes out.”

“As much as we’re able.”

“I hope Byleth can make friends and allies here. She’ll need as many as they can get.”

Domaghar let out a long snort of a sigh while Jeralt closed his eyes and rested his hand on his wife’s grave once more. “I don’t know if any part of you is here and listening, but if it is, please watch over our daughter. Because…I don’t know how much I’ll be able to protect her by myself here. I’m so worried about how she’ll manage, if she’ll get used. But…I’m so proud of her, how far she’s come. I’m sure you would be too.”

* * *

Sothis also had quite a bit to say about Byleth’s sudden change in career. Since the now-ex-mercenary seemed to be resigned to her fate, if oddly apathetic about it, she decided to make her opinions very clearly known.

_“Great! We’re stuck in this gig! I don’t know why Rhea decided to make you a professor, but this is going to be a complete shitshow!”_

“Well, at least you won’t actually be around to deal with the fallout,” Belial muttered. “You can just watch from the peanut gallery and laugh.”

They kept walking towards what Rhea had said were the classrooms. Not like Byleth had any idea where she and Belial were going. The monastery was enormous, with open courtyards carved up by iron fencing and tall stone towers. The walls were thick and old, old stone, the stairs worn smooth by years of footsteps upon them. Cats brave enough to stand the chilly air sunned themselves on the ramparts in the weak winter light. The place was a maze that Byleth couldn’t even begin to navigate. Garreg Mach wasn’t just a monastery, but a fortress. Byleth had gotten so lost, in fact, that by the time she actually found the classrooms the rumors had spread to essentially every single student and most of the staff and faculty.

“That’s the new professor?”

“She’s so young!”

“What was Rhea thinking?”

Byleth paid them no heed. It didn’t matter. Words like that never really affected her. Not much did. But still, she was stuck her, and was apparently going to be a professor to one of the three houses now. Might as well make the most of it. And might as well learn more about the students she would be teaching. If this was an officer’s academy, then they’d be learning how to fight.

“So maybe we should think of it sort of like how dad runs the troupe? We have to take care of them,” Belial said, finishing her thought.

“Yeah.” Belial had been doing that more, finishing her thoughts. Actually, she’d been doing that with them as well. It had been happening more and more since Sothis woke up. It was weird, but nice.

“Byleth! Is that you?” A somewhat familiar voice, a female voice of elegance and poise, shook Byleth from her thoughts. She looked up from her pacing to see Edelgard a few feet away, waving at her in the open courtyard. Behind her was a long and low stone building carved up into three rooms. Each of those rooms was decorated with banners of the Black Eagles, Blue Lions, and Golden Deer houses, respectively. Edelgard was standing closest to the room with Black Eagles banner, and…ah, yes, that must be why she was wearing a red cape. “I see you found the classrooms. This place is large; it is rather easy for newcomers to get lost.” As she approached Byleth Avarine flew down from a low branch to perch on Edelgard’s shoulder. She didn’t even flinch from the sudden added weight.

“It is. I hope I can find them again when classes start. Teachers are supposed to be there before students, right?”

Edeglard chuckled. “Yes, that is generally how it is supposed to go. I would not worry though, We are all very understanding of the, ah, unusual circumstances. Or at least, the Black Eagles house is. I can assure you that, should you choose the Black Eagles house, you will not have to worry about…issues of discipline.” She stood up straighter as she talked, Avarine shifting her stance to more accurately imitate the pose of the dual-headed eagle that was the symbol of the Adrestian Empire. But then Edelgard smiled. “Actually, you’re in luck. We just finished a seminar, so this is a good time to introduce yourself to everyone. Come, follow me.”

“…Okay.” Byleth turned to follow the Adrestian princess. Even though Edelgard was shorter, she moved with speed and purpose back to the classroom. At Sothis’s wordless prodding she asked, “Can you tell me about yourself?”

Edelgard stopped. “Oh! Well, hm, as you know, I am the princess and heir to the Adrestian throne. As such, I spend most of my time studying politics, economics, military affairs, diplomacy, that sort of thing.” She turned around to Byleth, and there was a somewhat wistful smile on her face. “Some people say that I am far too formal, uptight, and serious, but there is nothing much I can do about that. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and all.”

Avarine looked down at Belial. “You know, for the longest time I thought I was going to settle as a wolf. I think we might have more similar personalities than you know.”

“…Harris hawk felt right to me for a while,” Belial said in return.

“Wait, hold up.” Byleth stopped short and held out a hand in front of Edelgard. “Who’s that person over there?” Indeed, there was a man hidden in the shadows that the overhang created in front of the classroom doors. He was blended in quite well with the darkened stone, having found the perfect spot to…lurk, there really was no other word for it. He was tall and gaunt, with slightly greasy black hair that fell over his right eye, and was dressed nearly entirely in black. His entire aura raided severity and menace. The only splash of color to be seen was in the red fur of his fox daemon who peeked out at the two young women from behind a pillar.

Edelgard didn’t seem concerned at all by the man who was watching their every movement. In fact, she laughed. “Oh, that’s just Hubert and Thanily. Don’t mind them. Some people think of him as cold and creepy, which…okay, he is. And I think he revels in it. But you could not ask for a more loyal comrade. He has been by my side for nearly my entire life. Hubert! This is Byleth, the mercenary I told you about. Come over and introduce yourself!”

“Come on, Thanily. I know you’re curious, don’t hide it.”

Even Byleth could feel the apathy and slight tint of disdain radiating off of Hubert. Nevertheless, he detached himself from the shadows and made his way over to the two women. “Hubert von Vestra,” he said to Byleth with a slight bow that Thanily mirrored to Belial, along with her own introduction. “I heard that you saved Lady Edelgard from a most dire fate.”

“Belial jumped in front of an axe for me,” Edelgard said. “Surely that merits more of an acknowledgement, even from you.”

“But of course it does,” Hubert said with a smirk. “Clearly you would make a dangerous opponent. I certainly hope you give us no reason to test that conclusion.”

_“Okay, Hubert,”_ Edelgard cut in, rolling her eyes. “Come on Byleth, let’s introduce you to the rest of the Black Eagles.”

The classroom was tightly packed with banners, books, and several chalkboards. One appeared to have a diagram or flowchart of some sort scribbled on it; the others were recently erased. A map of the Empire lay unfurled on one table and surrounded by chairs, only two of which were currently occupied. Other people were split off and chatting with each other, or their daemons were doing the same. There was a long tank that completely encompassed one wall where aquatic daemons could swim; it was currently occupied by a clownfish and, for some reason, a red panda floating on her back. Their humans (two young men, one tall and slim with shoulder-length green hair and loose robes, the other short and stocky with short choppy sky-blue hair and a clear backpack filled with water) were chatting with each other just a few feet away.

“This is—”

“I AM FERDINAND VON AEGIR!”

“AND I AM EMBRIENNE VON AEGIR!”

A redheaded blur had materialized out of nowhere, grabbed Byleth by the hand, started shaking it vigorously, and shouted in her face. All at the same time. Less than a second later a higher-pitched voice shouted just as loudly from the same direction.

“…Yes.” That was Avarine, who simply sounded resigned. Edelgard refused to dignify Ferdinand with a response, instead opting for a sigh. “We know.”

“This must be the new professor! She does not know! I am Ferdinand von Aegir, the noblest of all nobles in the Adrestian Empire! I heard that you rescued Lady Edelgard from a pack of bandits! Your battle skills must be a sight to behold; not that I would ever need rescuing!” The man kept talking, and shouting, and being generally loud. Once Byleth had a moment to adjust she could see that the loud man was in his late teens, with neatly groomed wavy orange hair, immaculate gloves, and his honeybee daemon—Embrienne, presumably—perched on the prominent bridge of his nose. Everything about him was loud. Unlike the trembling girl next to him whose face was hidden under a mess of tangled lavender waves.

The girl raised a trembling hand. “H-hi…eep!” She cringed at Byleth’s sudden eye contact and tucked into her shirt as far as it could go.

“Come now, Bernadetta! At least say hi to our newest professor! Simply hiding in the corner will not do,” Ferdinand said, turning to her with a smile.

Embrienne chimed in with her own encouragements to Bernadetta’s daemon. “Malecki, come and say hi! It will not do to be curled up in a ball all day!”

“W-what if I like it?” said a tiny voice from somewhere around Bernadetta’s waist. Belial eyed it curiously; in fact, there was a tiny trembling ball wedged in one of her uniform pockets. “It’s not easy being around so many people all day!”

“I understand that you have difficulties socializing, but it is still your duty as a noble to—”

“Okay, fine!” A tiny hedgehog’s nose poked out from Bernadetta’s pocket. “Malecki. Can I go now, please?”

Bernadetta slipped her hand into her pocket to cradle Malecki. “I-I’m Bernadetta. Are you happy now, Ferdinand?”

“Of course I am! You are doing wonderfully introducing yourself! Of course, you need to be more confident; stand up straight! Speak with purpose!” Ferdinand and Embrienne both continued the effusive praise, completely unaware as to how Bernadetta was backing away with every step, at least until Thanily materialized out of nowhere and cleared her throat.

“Are you truly that much of a fool, Embrienne? And here I thought you were the wiser of the two, not that that accounts for much. Even I can tell that Bernadetta is terrified.”

“Uh…Ah, I see,” Embrienne settled back on Ferdinand’s nose; for his part the young man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “My apologies, Bernadetta. I was overly enthusiastic.”

“You’ve done enough today, Bernadetta,” Edelgard cut in with a gentle voice. “You can go now.”

Bernadetta didn’t need to be told twice, and before Byleth could blink she was out the door and running back to her room.

“Oh, we’re dismissed then?” said a worn-down deep voice behind Byleth. “Goodnight then.” There was a bit of splashing as the red panda tried to leave the aquarium to accompany her departing human, while a clownfish bit at her tail to try and get her to stay. Since the red panda was much bigger, this just resulted in the clownfish being tossed out of the tank to flop on the floor. Her human, the stocky blue-haired boy, scooped her up and placed her in his backpack, then glared at the taller man.

“Linhardt, that’s rude! You should introduce yourself at least!”

“Linhardt. Runilite. Goodbye.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! Hey, come back here!” He chased the taller man out the classroom door. Again, the two women and their daemons just watched in varying combinations of bemusement and amusement.

Edelgard sighed, again, and began to explain to the still-silent Byleth. “The taller one and the red panda are Linhardt and Runilite. He’s remarkably intelligent, but refuses to apply himself towards anything. He prefers to obsess over whatever’s piqued his interest—usually Crests—and then sleep the rest of the day away. The shorter one and the clownfish are Caspar and Peakane. Don’t ask me how, but they’re best friends.”

“And I think Caspar took all of Linhardt’s energy and enthusiasm,” Avarine added.

She should say something, shouldn’t she? This was all quite a lot. “You…certainly have quite the class,” she said. Belial was still wandering around, careful not to stray too far from Byleth’s side.

Edelgard rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Still, there was a smile on her face.

“On the contrary, I quite enjoy it,” piped up a melodious voice. It was coming from the direction of the table with the opened map. Now that Byleth looked closer, she could see that those two remaining figures were two young women. One was wearing a black cap, had pale skin and long flowing dark brown hair, and perfectly applied makeup. The other woman looked a little younger, with light brown skin. Her hair was done in an intricate braid and there was an triangular tattoo under her eye. “It’s a good reminder, that even the stuffy nobles of the Empire are just a bunch of eccentrics.”

“Eccentric? What is this word meaning…er, what does this word mean?” The woman with the tattoo spoke in a precise, formal tone, like she was carefully lining up her words before speaking. Byleth couldn’t place her accent.

“It means odd. Which many of the people here certainly are. Ah!” She turned to look at Byleth. “You must be the new professor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dorothea. If I look familiar, it’s because I was once a songstress at the Mittelfrank Opera Company in the capitol!”

“And I am called Petra. I am from Brigid, which is an...archipelago to the west. Please forgive any difficulties I may be having with the language of Fodlan; it is a difficult tongue to be learning.”

Opera didn’t mean anything to Byleth but Dorothea clearly took a lot of pride in it, so she nodded and said, “It’s nice to meet you. Likewise to you too, Petra. And you are perfectly understandable to me.”

Belial crouched under the table to find their daemons; a tiny greenish songbird with a golden crest called Calphour and a white snow goose with black-tipped wings named Ardior.

The class eventually emptied out, leaving only Byleth, Edelgard, and their daemons in the room. As well as Hubert and Thanily, lurking somewhere in the shadows.

“Take your time and learn about the other classes before making your choice,” Edelgard said. “But I do hope you join the Black Eagles House. You are a fascinating person, and we will help you in your new position as much as possible. And also, the Empire has need of people like you.”

* * *

Dimitri didn’t like talking about himself much, Byleth noticed. And Delcabia didn’t want to look Belial in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m not really that interesting to talk about.” He scratched his shoulder. Dimitri seemed to fidget a lot, actually. “But my classmates are all kind and wonderful people. Well, mostly. Felix can be…rude, and Sylvain is a bit of a, well, a skirt chaser. But we’re working on that! Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain are still in the classroom. I think everyone else is in the kitchen. They’re apparently wonderful cooks; I’m sure they’d be happy to share.”

Byleth nodded and entered the Blue Lions classroom where indeed two men and a woman were chatting with each other. Three animals that were presumably their daemons were just a few feet away. More specifically, a tortoiseshell cat was batting an enchanted capsule containing a bright blue fish back and forth. An alligator was curled around them, using his body as a barrier to prevent the capsule from rolling far away.

As soon as Byleth and Belial entered the room, six heads turned to look at them. The tall redhaired man approached first with a lazy smirk on his face. “Ah, you must be Byleth, the new professor. I’m Sylvain, and the cat over there is Zepida. Gotta say, I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to meet someone as lovely as—ow!” He flinched forward as if struck, but nothing actually contacted him.

However, behind Sylvain, the cat rubbed her head where the alligator had whacked her with his tail. She turned to the alligator as, behind them, the shorter black-haired man scrambled after the orb that skittered out of Zepida’s paws and was currently rolling into the corner. “What gives, Albarrog? I didn’t do anything!”

“You didn’t, but Sylvain did. I can’t exactly smack that oaf upside the head and Ingrid wasn’t close enough, so here we are.”

“Jerk.”

“You’re both jerks,” the black-haired man muttered in a theatrically loud voice while cramming the capsule back in a metal mesh pouch fixed to his belt. The blue fish inside settled into an upright position. “How about you keep a closer eye on Bismalt next time?”

“Sorry, Felix.”

“Hey, dipshit, next time instead of a sorry, why don’t you…” He stalked back and the six of them trailed off into bickering. There was a dance here, a dance that Byleth didn’t know the steps to and wasn’t sure she could ever learn. Byleth had no clue how to fit herself into their conversation, so instead she awkwardly walked away to wherever she hoped the kitchens were.

She would have gotten lost if not for Belial’s nose. “Something smells divine,” they said. “Cinnamon and ginger? There’s nutmeg and allspice and clove there too. Follow me. Mmmmm…”

The dining hall was very large, probably large enough to fit most of the class at once. The windows on one side were open to the greenhouse and pond, which made for quite a nice view when eating. Right now though it was empty except for eight figures by the kitchens themselves—four human, four animal. They were split off into two groups, and the smells of cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, and clove wafted from them both. On one side, a mountain of a man, dark-skinned and silver-haired with an even larger cape buffalo daemon, fed apples into a press. The handle to crush them was made of wood and iron and looked heavy, and yet he squeezed the apples into cider with seemingly no effort at all.

“That must be Dedue,” Belial said. Nobody else could fit the brief description that Dimitri had given them.

Dedue turned around, as did the younger man beside him—a short slim teenage boy with messy gray hair, a dusting of freckles across his face, and an honest and friendly expression. His daemon turned into a rat and raced up onto his shoulder. Unsettled then.

“Are you Byleth?” At her nod Dedue continued, “It is a pleasure to meet you. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for saving Dimitri. I owe you a great debt. Our names are Dedue and Levia. If you ever need anything from us, you need only ask.”

“And I’m Ashe, and this is Fuergios! I really hope you join our house. Saving Dimitri and the others, that was so gallant of you!” the younger teenager piped in. He even sounded utterly guileless. “Oh, would you like some mulled cider? It shouldn’t be long before we’re done with this batch!”

It smelled delicious, actually. Byleth found herself hovering over the gently simmering cauldron, the cloth bag of cinnamon sticks and nutmeg and other fitting spices diffusing into the cider, and took a deep breath. It smelled of cool nights bundled up by the fire, her dad and some of the mercenaries telling stories to keep out winter’s chill.

…When did she ever think like that, instead of simply what was flat, factual, and in front of her?

“Hey Ashe!” came a high-pitched excitable voice from the other side of the kitchen. The voice came from a short girl with bright orange hair and brighter eyes, a coil of energy mirrored in the squirrel daemon skittering up and down the shelves collecting supplies. “Can you pass us the cinnamon?”

“Oh, uh, sure thing Annette. Sorry about that.” Fuergios became an owl and gripped the satchel of cinnamon in her talons. He flew over to Annette, whose squirrel daemon scampered across the countertops to meet her halfway. She raced back to drop the cinnamon into a mortar, then began grinding it with a pestle.

“Now Annie, don’t forget to grind it to just the right consistency,” said a taller woman next to Annette in a serene, slightly breathy voice. She had long ash-blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulder and was loosely tied in place with a ribbon. Everything about her seemed soft and calm.

“Don’t worry, I can smell when it’s ground just right,” added her daemon. He was a large wild dog with enormous round ears, a white paintbrush of a tail, and a coat of many mottled colors.

“Aww, thanks Mercie!” Annette looked up and finally seemed to notice Byleth. “Oh, sorry! I was so busy making cookies with Mercie I didn’t even notice you. I’m Annette, and this is my best friend Mercie! Er, Mercedes, sorry, I always call her Mercie. We’ve been friends for years.”

“Ever since the magic academy,” Mercedes added with a smile. “I’m so lucky to get to spend another year with Annie.”

“Aww, then I’m just as lucky!”

Mercedes’s daemon turned to Belial. “My name is Cygnis, and Annette’s daemon is Serrin. What is your name?”

“Belial.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to stay for a while?”

“Annie and I are making gingerbread cookies,” Mercedes added. Behind her Annette poured some of the cinnamon into the dough and mixed the rest into a separate bowl of sugar. “Ashe and Dedue are making mulled cider. Would you like to stay and try some when they’re ready?”

“Mercie makes the best sweets ever! She made me the most delicious cake when Serrin settled.” Annette clapped her hands, creating a small cloud of flour. “Ooh, Mercie, I just had a thought! Ignatz just settled, right? You should make a cake for him!”

“That’s a wonderful idea!”

Cygnis sat down and chimed in, “Although in that case we should probably include Petra too. From what I heard she settled just before arriving here a few weeks back. And she’s all the way from Brigid, right? It would definitely make her feel more welcomed here.”

“Oh Cygnis, that’s so sweet of you! Maybe we can make this a huge inter-house party!”

They kneaded the dough and rolled it out flat while slipping into comfortable friendly banter, seemingly forgetting Byleth’s presence for the moment. Byleth didn’t mind though. It was…relaxing, to sit back and take a breath. There was so much going on at once. Even Sothis was quiet and contemplative. Belial was flopped down on a relatively clean part of the stone floor. Byleth just hoped the cookies and cider were good.

* * *

The cookies and cider were amazing. The balance of spices in the cider was perfect, and it warmed her up just right on this cold spring day. As for the gingerbread cookies, they were an exquisite balance of spiced and sweet. Mercedes and Annette had even shaped them into gingerbread men, and decorated them with icing smiley faces and buttons, then dusted them with cinnamon sugar.

_“They’re almost too good to eat, but they look like they taste so good. You don’t know how lucky you are, being able to taste things.”_

“…It’s not really fair that you can’t,” Byleth whispered to seemingly herself.

_“No it’s not, but here we are. Don’t deny yourself on my behalf!”_

Byleth brought the gingerbread man to her mouth, although it really was almost too cute to eat…

“By. The. Goddess.”

She snapped her jaw shut and bit the gingerbread man’s head clean off. A young woman with short dull orange hair and a robin daemon stared at her like she was some kind of apparition, or divine image. “You’re Captain Jeralt’s daughter, aren’t you?” She stepped closer, leaning right into Byleth’s face for some kind of inspection. She then stepped back and placed her hands on her hips with a triumphant smile. “Of course you are! Which means the rumors are true, Captain Jeralt really is here! He really is here oh my gosh oh my gosh!”

…Now she was making a sound like a teakettle going off.

“Um, are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay! Even in my wildest dreams…okay, yes in my wildest dreams I wished that Captain Jeralt would be here to teach us but now it’s actually happening! I’ll never be able to pay everyone back enough for this, this is going to be the best year of my life!”

The robin flew down from her shoulder to perch on Belial’s muzzle. “You may be his daughter, but I’m his number one apprentice, so watch out—I’ll be training right alongside you!”

Claude’s voice rang out to save her as he scaled the steps from the fishing pond to the patio in front of the dining hall. “I see you’ve met Leonie and Kamen. She’s incredibly hardworking and reliable, just…intense. Sorry Leonie, but I have to borrow Teach for a bit. Need to show her around after all!”

Leonie waved them off, but there was still pure delight and the spark of rivalry in her eyes.

“Anyway,” Claude continued, “you’re probably really tired so I’ll just give you the quick rundown. The Alliance doesn’t have any stuffy kings or emperors, just a roundtable of nobles and a bunch of people trying to work together and not trying to tear each others’ throats out. Which our house mirrors quite well.”

He pointed to a young woman with bright pink pigtails who was heading to the marketplace. “That’s Hilda, and frankly some days I don’t know why she’s here. If you looked up ‘lazy’ in the dictionary…you won’t find her picture there because she never got around to submitting it. Great talker though, like damn she can chat circles around you if you’re not careful. You probably can’t see him from this distance, but Halmstadt is a butterfly. I don’t know what kind of butterfly Halmstadt is beyond ‘blue’ but he’s a freaking butterfly so of course she milks it for all it’s worth.”

“You think she’s shopping for herself, or Marianne?” Simurg asked.

“Knowing Hilda? Probably both. Oh, Marianne is another one of our classmates. She’s got light blue hair and looks tired all the time. She doesn’t really talk much; I don’t even know her daemon’s name, just that he’s an armadillo. Honestly, Teach, even if you don’t pick our house, can you help me keep an eye out for Marianne? I’m a bit worried about her.”

Simurg stared Belial down when Claude said that. He was probably being completely honest, she realized.

Claude clapped his hands, and then the smile was back on for the world to see. “Anyway! See that guy with the worst haircut I’ve ever seen in my entire life?” He pointed to a tall man with a long face and a haircut that was, indeed, terrible. He was wearing a rose, for some reason, and was walking into the greenhouse alongside his deer daemon. Presumably to get more roses. “That’s Lorenz and Vincatel. Lorenz is, how do I put it,”

“The very definition of an upper class twit and Vincatel is no better.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Simi. Speaking of Vincatel, you know what, I lied about Hilda and Halmstadt. _Lorenz_ milks his daemon’s form for all it’s worth. As if nobody in the Alliance has ever had a deer daemon before in its centuries-long history. Honestly, I’m just surprised he hasn’t gone and made fake antlers for her yet!”

Byleth’s face was stony and impassive, but Sothis was already snorting. _“I like this guy. Can we keep him?”_

They were by the fishing pond now, which appeared quiet and calm. There was a thin sheen of ice covering the water. Claude didn’t skip a beat but whipped around to point at another person, a small girl with white hair who was carrying a stack of books almost as tall as she was. The stack of books teetered dangerously, but just as it was about to topple her daemon shifted forms from ferret to bear and took on some of the load. “Typical Lysithea,” Claude remarked. “She’s one of the most focused students and powerful mages that I’ve ever seen. She also hates being treated like a child. As for me, I do that all the time. Gotta make your own fun around this place, you know? And honestly, if she really wanted to be an adult then she should just go and settle already!”

“I heard that! Fuck you!”

“I would, but I don’t want to go to jail!”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Now what kind of impression do you want me to leave on poor old Teach?”

“AAGGHH!” She and her daemon stormed into the room. The door slammed behind them.

Sothis was howling in her head, but Byleth just watched the scene with a blank expression. “Seriously? Not even a chuckle?” Claude shook his head in disbelief. “Wow, tough crowd.”

They continued to the other side of the fishing pond, where two young men were sitting, their dog daemons—one a spaniel, the other a retriever—playing with each other. One man was short and slim, with light green hair and glasses. The other one looked like he was carved from granite. His hair fell in messy blond curls and his shirt looked like it was about to tear itself to pieces under the strain of his muscles.

“That’s Ignatz and Mistella, and Raphael and Oakley,” Claude explained. “They’re both from merchant families that have done a lot of business in Riegan territory. Raphael’s parents were killed in a monster attack a couple years back, but he hasn’t let it get him down. He’s actually an incredibly resilient guy. Ignatz is a bit more sensitive, okay a lot more sensitive, but he’s a good guy too.” Claude lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Don’t tell Iggy this, but since Mistella just settled, we’re planning on throwing a huge party for them both. You’re going to make it, right?”

“Of course.” Her response was automatic.

“I’m going to hold you to that, you know.” He was still smiling. “And I think that’s everyone. I’m sure your head is swimming right now, but take some time and think about it.” He winked. Simurg flicked out her tongue. “Because, you? Me? Golden Deer? We could be great together.”

* * *

Byleth’s head was still swimming. Belial laid down on the floor and whined. She was never good at talking to people, and to meet so many at once? Her head was swimming. She barely even noticed the two other professors. Hanneman and Manuela? Were those their names?

“What do you think of our crop of students? Rhea asked. “They are all fine young people, are they not?”

And then to have to make a choice among the three classes?

Byleth hadn’t made many choices in her life, not outside of combat. But this, deciding which house to teach, taking on that much responsibility, all these _choices…_

Belial made a whining noise that sounded almost like a cry for help. In their heads, Sothis made a disapproving noise. _“I’m just in the peanut gallery. I can offer advice if you really need it, but I’m not going to make this decision for you.”_

That…meant a lot, for some reason. She didn’t really know how to express it, or even understand it, so Byleth packed the thought and associated emotion away for the time being. She must have sunk onto a bench because when she looked up, Rhea was sitting beside her. She was the very picture of serenity and grace with her perfectly coiffed mint-green hair, her robes, her crown thing, her praying mantis daemon in the capsule by her side.

“I know we are asking a lot of you,” Rhea said, her voice still calm and level. “You showed great courage back there in Remire. We need people like you, Byleth. I need people like you. No matter which house you choose, you will be a wonderful teacher and guide to our students.”

Rhea was so nice to her, so patient. And seemed to think very highly of her for some reason. She couldn’t let her down.

Byleth looked down at Belial, who whined but did get to their feet. They didn’t ask for this, but this was their life now. They needed to take care of these students. “Can…do we have to be only with this one house.”

“Of course not,” Rhea said. “You will be spending most of your time with your house, yes, but there will be plenty of time to interact with other students on days off, seminars, and the like.”

Okay, okay that was better. Now to actually…make a choice.

The Black Eagle house seemed to be disciplined, if chaotic to some extent like the rest, but Byleth still couldn’t get Avarine’s evaluating gaze out of her head. And yet there was an odd…resonance between her and the future emperor. The Blue Lions were sweet and kind, but they were already in such tightly-knit friend groups. Byleth wasn’t sure how or if she could penetrate them. Not to mention that something about her interactions with Dimitri felt like walking on cracked glass. Claude and the Golden Deer were so…vivacious, so full of energy. It was nice, but…at the same time, it made her feel like something important was taken from her. She didn’t know if she could be around that feeling every day.

And what if she slipped back into her bad days, where she wasn’t aware of anything? Dad wouldn’t be able to help her, she’d be the one in charge. If she slipped back into that haze, who would take care of her students?

Byleth sat and stared at her hands, paralyzed in indecision. Which is why she didn’t hear what Belial said until they repeated it.

“The Black Eagles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah, you can probably see where this is going. Although, looking at my notes, the plot is seriously going to go off the rails as time goes on. As an aside, when I say slow burn, I mean it. Don't worry! Even though Byleth chose the Black Eagles house, we're going to see a lot from the other students and other houses! It's only chapter 3 after all. 
> 
> Just so you know, a big part of the reason things trailed off as the introductions went on is that Byleth was getting overwhelmed and sort of tuning out. 
> 
> Anyway, on to the daemon listings! Let me know if your curious about my thought process or reasoning; I'm always happy to share!
> 
> Rhea and ??? (praying mantis)  
Seteth and ??? (bearded dragon)  
Ferdinand and Embrienne (female honeybee)  
Bernadetta and Malecki (male hedgehog)  
Linhardt and Runilite (female red panda)  
Caspar and Peakane (female clownfish)  
Dorothea and Calphour (male goldcrest)  
Petra and Ardior (male snow goose)  
Sylvain and Zepida (female tortoiseshell cat)  
Ingrid and Albarrog (male alligator)  
Dedue and Levia (female cape buffalo)  
Ashe and Fuergios (female, unsettled)  
Annette and Serrin (female gray squirrel)  
Mercedes and Cygnis (male African painted dog/African wild dog, called a painted wolf in this setting even though it isn't a wolf)  
Leonie and Kamen (male robin)  
Hilda and Halmstadt (male blue morpho butterfly)  
Marianne and Penumbrior (male armadillo)  
Lorenz and Vincatel (female red deer)  
Lysithea and Zilbariel (male, unsettled)  
Ignatz and Mistella (female spaniel-type dog; Fodlan doesn't have the same breeds as Earth)  
Raphael and Oakley (female retriever-type dog; Fodlan doesn't have the same breeds as Earth)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, or anything!


	4. Facing The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painful realizations and a battle ensue. At least the food is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind words and comments, everyone! I read and love everything you all write and I hope to continue to provide entertainment. 
> 
> Just to quickly talk shop: Residency applications opened up today, so unfortunately those need to take top priority. Updates will slow down slightly; expect them every 7-10 days or so. I hope you all continue to read and enjoy!

“That was stupid. That was really, really stupid. That was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Avarine, please don’t ever let me do something that stupid ever again.”

Avarine’s talons curved around the mahogany perch, digging into worn but still fine leather. It was a special piece that Edelgard had brought from the palace instead of using the monastery-supplied perches for avian daemons. Right now the perch was set before Edelgard’s bed, where she sat on the edge with her head buried in her hands. The gyrfalcon’s gaze was even sterner than usual. “Edelgard, if you want me to stop you from doing something stupid, then you’re going to have to listen to my advice first. What part of that manufactured attack was a good idea?”

Edelgard’s voice came out muffled through her hands and hair trapped between her fingers. “It wasn’t like I wanted them dead! I just wanted the church to look stupid, make them look incompetent and incapable of taking care of their students. Because maybe then people would look closer beyond the façade of the church.”

“Uh-huh.” Damnable Avarine, she wasn’t letting up. Her gaze pierced right through Edelgard.

“Okay, yes if the bandits had…killed Dimitri and Claude then their nations would have been even more destabilized and ugh yes the next steps would have been easier but there would have been even more fighting and more people would have died and then Dimitri and Claude would have been dead because of me and ugh Ava I am such an idiot.” Edelgard couldn’t even bear to look Avarine in the eye. Such a damnably stupid idea, how did she ever get talked into doing it? No, the fault was hers. She was the future and hope of Adrestia; she needed to take responsibility for all of her actions, even the utterly idiotic ones. And then on top of everything else, she could have gotten herself killed too. And if she died, then…there were too many people who needed her. Too much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it. And Dimitri and Claude…

“I’m glad they’re okay. I didn’t actually want them dead. Even if it makes things harder in the future, I’m glad Dimitri and Claude are alive and okay.”

“…Me too, Ava.”

Avarine hopped off her perch into Edelgard’s lap, taking care not to dig her talons into her tights. She roused her feathers and settled into Edelgard’s warmth. Edelgard traced the sleek feathers of her back, the soft fluff underneath, and the broken world felt okay again.

“Well, at least someone was there to clean up our mess this time. Speaking of that, what do you think of our new professor?”

“Professor Byleth? Hmm…” Edelgard trailed off, though she was still idly petting Avarine. “There’s something eerily compelling about her. Like a…” She waved her hand in the air, a vague gesture and a failed attempt to capture the flitting thoughts that danced through her head. “There’s theis force of personality around her, something that makes people pay attention, but I’m not sure how aware she is of it. There’s definitely something…magnetic about her. She seems really quiet, and not really sure how to talk to people though. I hope she’s as skilled in the classroom as on the battlefield.”

“She’s really quiet and distant though,” Avarine added, “And I’ve barely heard Belial speak. El, you don’t think…?”

Edelgard shook her head. “No. Don’t even bring that up, Ava. She’s…even if the Professor is quiet, there’s too much in there. She’s not…what they did to…” Edelgard couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought; there was an iron wall slammed down in her head that turned back any attempt to even wander down that path. Perhaps some day she could get through that wall, but not today.

“Sorry about that. I guess we’ll find out how she is in the classroom soon.”

“And why Rhea has such a special interest in her.”

“…That too.”

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on her.”

"Heh, as if Hubert wasn’t enough. At least she made the job as easy as possible by choosing us.”

“True. I wonder what she’s doing now?”

* * *

Byleth was currently sitting against some old crates stacked up against each other at the fishing pier. It was late winter; there was still a thin sheen of ice over much of the fishing pond and the few deciduous trees in the monastery were still completely bare, but she sat against the crates and fished anyway. There was something calming about it. No need to think, no need to make decisions, just watch the line in the water and react to its movements. And she was good at it, as the steadily increasing pile of fish in the basket next to her could attest.

Focusing on fishing was also a welcome distraction from the very put-off Sothis lecturing her inside her head.

_Why did you pick the Black Eagles? Why not the Golden Deer? Claude is hilarious! If they’re going to shove you in this situation, then why not have fun while doing it?”_

Herring seemed to be most common in the fishing pond this time of year. Byleth focused on the fish and tried her best to ignore Sothis’s speil. Ignoring people was easy. She did it all the time.

Belial, however, decided to engage. “Hey,” they growled to seemingly nothing, “I thought you were just going to sit in the peanut gallery.”

_I was, but if you’re going to make monumental decisions like this, then you better have a reason for making them! You can’t just make choices like this on a whim!”_

But it was sort of a whim, wasn’t it? There were reasons, yes, but it was also a snap moment of indecision. At least from Byleth. Belial, on the other hand…

“Grr…Look, we have no idea what we’re doing. What happens if you go back to sleep and Byleth starts having Bad Days again? We’re barely aware of what year it is on the worst of them, and now we have a bunch of noble children and _the fucking princess of Adrestia_ to take care of! These students depend on us and we need someone to pick up the slack if the Bad Days start coming back and Byleth can’t do it. The Black Eagles seemed like the most cohesive of the three without any of that weird shattered-glass feeling that I got with Dimitri. Something about Edelgard makes me trust her the most with helping out on the Bad Days. Happy?”

Byleth couldn’t see Sothis, but she knew that somewhere beyond seeing the girl in her head had thrown up her hands in vindication. _“Yes! That’s a reason for the choice you made! There’s the emotion I was looking for!”_

The fishing line lay forgotten in the pond. Byleth was so focused on the conversation that she didn’t even notice someone else sitting down until they spoke.

“Ah, hello there. You must be our newest professor, Byleth. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

Byleth stiffened and turned around to see a girl who appeared to be in her early teens staring back at her with an earnest and open expression. Her hair was green, just a little bit lighter in shade than Sothis’s, and framed each side of her face in long thick ringlets. She looked a little bit like Seteth. “…Uh, hi.”

She laughed, a light airy chuckle. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Flayn, and I am Seteth’s younger sister. Therefore, although I am not a student, I do live here and you may see me around the monastery grounds quite often. I actually came here to fish,” and indeed, there was an old and well-loved fishing rod in her hands, “and was quite surprised to find someone else here, especially this time of year. I presume you also enjoy fishing?”

"I do. I find it soothing.”

“Ah yes, there is something so relaxing about sitting down and watching the line bob up and down in the waves! Not to mention the delicious results. Do you mind if I fish here with you?”

“Of course not.” Belial scooted over, pressing themselves against Byleth. She did not seem to notice, but kept fishing. Flayn made no mention of this but simply cast her line out in the water as far is it could go with a satisfying _plunk._ She then settled in, leaning against a few baskets. Just her. There was an empty capsule hanging around her neck, but…

“Where’s your daemon?” asked Belial.

“Oh! Ah, he is currently swimming in the pond! Do not worry, he has not settled yet so he will be back in here—” she tapped at the capsule over her heart, “—once I leave. Oh I do hope he settles as a fish; then he could enjoy the water just as much as I do.” She gazed out fondly at the pond.

As active, talkative, and cheerful as Flayn was, she entered a state of intense quiet and concentration when fishing. It was nice, having someone nearby while not being obligated to talk to them or keep up a conversation that she could not maintain for long. Instead they fished, and watched the clouds reflect in the water, and occasionally spoke.

“I would like to apologize for my brother’s behavior,” Flayn said after an unknown period of time. Byleth’s connection to the passing of time was loose as it was, and it was so easy to lose track while fishing. “Seteth can be…overprotective. He cares deeply about me, and all of the students here, and unfortunately he does not always know how to channel it in a way that is not overbearing. I assure you, he means well, and only wishes for our safety in a complicated and dangerous world.” She turned to Byleth with a smile, even as she reeled in a large herring. “And I do understand his apprehension. Your situation is rather unprecedented, after all. Still, Rhea is the archbishop; she must have a good reason for her decisions! After all, you did rescue three students. And there is something soothing about you.”

“Really?” She hadn’t heard that one before. Usually it was ‘eerie’ at best, or ‘Ashen Demon,’ or ‘soulless’ at worst. There were others too.

“Why yes! Has nobody else mentioned it? There is something soothing and…familiar about you. I apologize, I—oh!” The loud pealing of the cathedral bells interrupted Flayn’s monologue. Indeed, the night sky had taken on a rosy golden hue, and the moon was faintly visible. Where had the day gone?

Flayn stood and quickly gathered her things, doubling back to quickly scoop her capsule into the pond, presumably to catch her daemon, and jam it under her dress to rest against her heart. “My apologies, I must be going. You should get some rest yourself; the mock battle is tomorrow! I hope we can spend time fishing together again. It was a pleasure to meet you, Byleth and Belial.”

And then she ran up the stairs and was gone.

_You know,” _Sothis said, _“She seems so young and naïve, and yet simultaneously so wise beyond her years. I hope we can talk to Flayn again.”_

Byleth hoped so too.

* * *

The morning of the mock battle was clear and cold. The slight damp in the air hinted at snow later, but for now the clouds kept themselves to the edges of the horizon. Byleth and her students were loosely assembled, along with the rest of the students, as Jeralt laid down the rules for the mock battle, saddled up on Domaghar as she walked up and down the attempt at an assembled line.

“We’ve got healers lined up on the sidelines; wave us down if you’ve got anything worse than a busted nose. You see the paint on your weapons? When somebody’s got what would be a fatal blow, they’re out. I don’t want anybody to get ganged up on while they’re down. And I can’t believe I have to say this, but if anybody so much as lays a finger on anyone else’s daemon, you’ll both be pulled from the battle and the Knights will launch an official investigation. If the contact is determined to be deliberate, you’ll be expelled so fast your head will spin.”

“D-did someone actually do that?” Malecki whimpered from inside Bernadetta’s pocket.

“Once, several years ago, I believe,” Embrienne replied from inside Ferdinand’s capsule. She liked to be outside of it, but not here, not now. Even if it was only a mock battle, there was just too much risk for a little honeybee. “I heard that afterwards the offender was stripped of his title, even though he bore a minor Crest. As it should be! To commit such a despicable act is utterly reprehensible for any human, much less one who claims himself a noble!”

Bernadetta squeaked in terror. “Eep! How could somebody do something like that? Do I need to be here can I just go back to my room?”

“Bernie, we have to be here, don’t we? Or else we’ll fail out…I, I’ll be right here, safe and in your pocket, o-okay?” Malecki’s voice came out muffled from inside Bernadetta’s tight grip. She didn’t respond, but just trembled, though at least she nodded as well.

"Do not worry, my fair Bernadetta! No harm shall come to you or Malecki as long as I am around!"

Jeralt’s voice boomed from the end of the line. “Hey, if you’re done chatting, go over to the field and get in position. Rule one: Don’t get to the battlefield late!”

Indeed, the Blue Lions and Golden Deer had already set up positions on the field. The Blue Lions were spread out around a partially-collapsed stone structure, and the Golden Deer were holed up behind some hastily-constructed fortifications near a small copse of trees. Which meant that the Black Eagles were stuck in an open area to the southeast. No sooner had they set up than the gong rang out across the field. The students all drew their training weapons and moved forward. The mock battle had begun.

“We’ll have to draw Claude and Hilda out from behind those barricades,” Belial said as Byleth stood beside them and drew her wooden sword. “I can’t see Ignatz or Lysithea but they’re probably behind those two. Even so, we should target the Deer first; Dimitri is extremely strong and Dedue is on the front lines, which means—_Caspar!_”

“YEEAAAHAHAHA! BRING ‘EM ON!”

“…He just charged on ahead.”

“Goddess fucking dammit.”

“Caspar, you damnable fool! Get back here!”

“…At least he’s heading towards the Deer. Come on everyone, let’s go!” Belial raced forward, and everyone else followed behind.

Caspar was already locked in combat with Raphael, the two young men grinning and laughing as they pummeled each other with training gauntlets. Oakley barked excitedly, leaping back and forth in a play bow in lieu of wrestling with Peakane. Neither of them were paying attention to anything else, so neither of them saw Lysithea drop a vortex of dark magic onto Caspar’s head. She pulled her punches—this was a mock battle, after all—but the sheer power behind her magic was more than enough to singe Raphael’s hands and knock Caspar out cold.

“Caspar’s down, Professor,” Edelgard said, her hands wrapped tight around her training axe. Avarine followed her from tree to tree. “Hubert and I will have words with him later, but what are your orders?”

Byleth’s eyes flicked back and forth across the scene before her. Her breathing settled into the calm pace of battle, the one place where she always felt awake and aware. The Blue Lions had also crashed into the deer; many of them were fighting in a wooded area that Byleth couldn’t see through. Hilda and Claude were still behind the barricades; Claude had nocked his bow and Hilda had a small crate of wooden throwing axes next to her. Lysithea was behind them, her daemon Zilbariel in the form of a wolverine, launching dark magic at anyone within range that she could see. A head-on assault was stupid; anyone who tried to get over those barricades would be picked off in moments.

But there was a copse of conifers next to those barricades…

Byleth observed, and Belial spoke. “Petra, Bernadetta, into the trees. Edelgard, Ferdinand, try to draw Hilda and Claude’s attention. Linhardt, you’re on healing duty. Hubert, Dorothea, snipe anything not wearing red that comes out of the trees.”

“Professor, why me?!”

“Ah, I believe I have understanding. Come, Bernadetta.” The Brigidian princess vanished into the trees; even her stark-white goose daemon managed to hide himself in the shadows. Bernadetta followed, reluctant and yet surprisingly capable at concealing herself in the woods.

Distracting Claude was easy. There was something Edelgard needed to say to him anyway. Not getting distracted herself would be the hard part. “Hey, Claude!” she shouted, then immediately tucked forward into a somersault. She could feel the mud clinging to her hair; multiple baths would be in order later.

Just as she thought, an arrow buried itself into the ground right where she was before rolling forward. Claude scoffed but didn’t skip a beat as he nocked another arrow. “What’s this, a missive from the princess herself?” he teased. “Come to surrender already?”

“Haha, you wish!” She didn’t dodge as well the second time; this arrow clipped her on the upper arm. Paint splashed over her uniform; there was enough force behind the blow to leave her with the dull ache of an oncoming bruise. Thankfully there was no training axe to follow up; Ferdinand was loudly and efficiently occupying Hilda’s attention. “Actually I wanted to apologize for that whole mess back in Remire.” She meant it, too.

“What for? It’s not like you had a bunch of bandits chase after us. And if I remember correctly, the big guy went after you specifically at the end!” Another arrow, this one against her wrist. Edelgard grunted in pain. The axe fell from her grasp and would have landed in the dirt if not for Avarine’s rapid reflexes.

_It was, it was, it was my fault and it was so stupid and I am so sorry_. Guilt that Edelgard could never, ever express twisted in her and she shouted, “I know, but I’m still sorry about the whole mess that training exercise turned out to be, you know? Anyway, I’m just glad you and Dimitri are both alive and okay!”

“Me too! This is a much better way to battle, isn’t it?”

The moment slipped past and Edelgard found herself slipping back into comfortable banter with the Golden Deer House Leader. “I’ll agree, once we win!”

“Oh-ho, you haven’t even considered losing?” Another arrow, another bruise and simulated wound to her knee. Another hit like this and she’d be forced to withdraw. “Ooh, this’ll be a bit of a shock then.”

“Claude! The trees!”

“Trees? Hilda what are you—”

Petra and Ardior burst out from the canopy, Ardior honking with every fired arrow that splashed paint onto Hilda’s chest. Bernadetta was behind her, her frame trembling and yet her fingers steady as she leveled her training bow at Claude.

Claude’s eyes narrowed. “Very clever, Byleth,” Simurg said just as paint burst over Claude’s forehead, the force of Bernadetta’s shot knocking him to the ground.

“I-I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Claude took Bernadetta’s outstretched hand and used his other one to wipe away the paint that was trickling down his face. “I’m fine. That was a clever scheme.”

Behind them, the battlefield was filled with Hubert’s cackling as he launched spell after spell until his magic reserves were completely depleted; behind him Dorothea was doing much the same as she compensated for decreased power with increased range.

Even though Dorothea was forced to withdraw under the power of Dimitri’s lance once he managed to close into melee range, the battle didn’t last long after that.

* * *

The battle may not have lasted long after Byleth’s gambit, but the party had been going for four hours and showed no signs of letting up. Mercedes, Annette, Dedue, and Ashe had pulled out all the stops when it came to catering and cooking. Two enormous cakes of dark chocolate and raspberry cream stood side by side, one decorated in dark greens and blues reminiscent of Brigid while the other was softer, more abstract, like an impressionistic painting. The cakes were topped with sculpted and dyed marzipan shaped like a goose and spaniel, respectively. It was probably best not to think about how expensive things like that were. But a settling party was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Over on the other table sat a bounty of food. There was a small pyramid of pastries and strudels stuffed with things like spiced lamb, wild mushrooms, goat cheese, roasted vegetables, and more. No fewer than five roasted turkeys were carved up and served alongside mashed cranberries and some kind of slightly tangy sauce. There was an enormous cauldron of venison stew, meant to be ladled out and served in still-warm hollowed-out bread bowls. Acorn squash had been candied, roasted in maple syrup and brown sugar. The mulled cider had been spiced to perfection, and at least some of it had been spiked with brandy, if the way Manuela’s lemur daemon draped over her shoulders was any indication.

Perhaps it was post-battle adrenaline, but the atmosphere was lively and raucous. Petra and Ignatz—or rather, Ardior and Mistella—were the focus of the celebration, but everybody was chatting, flirting, dancing, and generally having a good time. Even Bernadetta had slipped in to steal some cake and offer a quick congratulations before beating a hasty retreat back to her room. Dorothea had broken into song—not one of her dramatic arias but something bouncier, more of a commoner’s jig—and a bruised-up Leonie and Raphael were both dancing to it. Petra began moving to a dance all her own, a Brigidian style that was wholly unfamiliar to everyone else. Without missing a beat, Dorothea changed the key and tempo of her song to match Petra’s movements, and Calphour opened his little beak to turn it into a duet. When Calphour flew into the air, Ardior matched him. The two birds flew around each other, Calphour dipping between Ardior’s larger outstretched wings, continuing his part of the song all the while. They spiraled up in the air, descending to circle around their humans dancing and singing side by side, finishing the song with a simultaneous bow and cheers from the surrounding students.

Petra panted in exertion, her face flushed under the scratches from the earlier battle, but she grinned as Ardior pressed his head against her leg. “I have not been dancing like that in some time! Dorothea, where did you learn to mimic the songs of Brigid?”

“Honestly, I didn’t,” Dorothea replied. Calphour perched on her outstretched finger; she carefully transferred him to her shoulder where he nestled at home in her flowing hair. “I’m classically trained, and I was a commoner before that. I saw the way you were dancing and made a guess as to the tempo of the song.”

“It was a very excellent guess! If you would like I could be showing…I could show you some more songs and dances of my home.”

“That would be wonderful, Petra!”

Ardior stretched his wings and neck in a low bow to Dorothea and Calphour. “Calphour, I would be greatly liking to dance with you again. I am most pleased that we have both been settling as birds! Although I am still not quite sure what kind of bird I have settled as.”

“Well, Brigid is a pretty warm place! I’m not surprised you’ve never seen a snow goose before.” Calphour hopped down to land by Ardior’s face. “Snow geese are tough and adaptable, and not quite as obnoxious as Sreng geese are. They live in groups, they migrate, and they can live in many different places. They’re also incredibly protective of their family and other in their flocks. Ardi, snow geese may not be from Brigid, but the fact that you are one shows your resilience and pride in your home.”

Both Petra and Dorothea was silent as Calphour spoke; the Brigidian princess’s eyes shining with pride and love, new adoration for her daemon and his settled form. “Oh, Ardi…” She knelt down and embraced him, and he wrapped his wings around her in return.

On the other side of the room Ignatz stood; even if he was one of the targets of celebration he needed to step away and take some time to himself. It was…a lot, talking to so many people at once. And it was a lot, seeing Mistella’s shape carved in marzipan like it was a celebration.

He didn’t feel much like celebrating it, and Mist was still furious with him over it. Not like he hated her form! She was adorable, with her long silky coat and brown spots and floppy ears. It…it was just…

“What is it ‘just,’ Ignatz?”

“It’s just…you’re a spaniel. You’ve read all the stories with me, you know the sagas. If you’re a spaniel, then is that all I am? Slavish, passive, and nothing else?”

Mistella snarled. “Hey, that’s not just me you’re talking about!”

Ignatz wasn’t really listening; instead he slumped down slightly against the wall. “Might as well say it out loud, I didn’t really want to be here.”

“We wanted to be an artist,” Mistella murmured.

“But there’s no money in being an artist. I’m a second son, so there goes running the family business.” Ignatz slid down the wall further until he was seated against the ground, and yet Mistella still kept her distance. “My parents wanted me to be a knight, and they spent a lot of money and pulled a lot of favors to get me in here. I…I can’t let them down.” He couldn’t go against his parents’ wishes, couldn’t disobey in the face of their service and sacrifice. They needed him to serve, and so he would serve. But…wasn’t that slavish and passive in the first place?

And Mist had settled shortly after arriving here at the academy.

There had to be more than that to a spaniel daemon…right?

“Hey Ignatz!” Ashe’s bright, cheerful voice broke him out of his melancholy. He looked up from his seated position to see the teenager’s smiling face focused on him. Fuergios was at his side in the form of a collie; she greeted Mist with a play bow which the spaniel daemon half-heartedly returned. “I wanted to congratulate you on settling! Mistella is absolutely adorable! Man, I am so jealous.”

“Jealous? How come?”

Ashe waved his hands around as he spoke, unable to contain his enthusiasm or excitement. “You’re at the officer’s academy, and Mist is a dog! All of the most faithful knights in the stories have dog daemons; lord Fraldalius’s daemon is a dog, and there are tons of other amazing knights with dog daemons too! To have discovered that you have the nature of a loyal and faithful knight right after stepping foot in the academy, oh it’s like something out of the chivalric legends! Ignatz, this must mean you’re destined to be an amazing knight!”

“I wish I had settled when entering the academy,” Fuergios added. “I just hope I stay a dog when the time comes.”

Ashe meant well, but…that didn’t help at all. Did the opposite of help, actually. “…Thanks, Ashe. I…think I’m going to go to bed. I took a bit more of a beating than I expected in the mock battle and I think it’s catching up to me.”

“Oh…okay. Take some cake at least! And sleep well?”

“I will.”

Ignatz walked past Claude as he headed back to his dormitory; the house leader opened his mouth to say something but shut it again at the look on his face.

“I don’t think he’s happy with Mist’s form,” Simurg hissed from his arm where she was coiled.

“I don’t think so either, but what can you do? She’s a dog and he needs to figure out what that means, or hate himself forever.”

“We’re going to help, right?”

“Of course, but there’s only so much we can do. Iggy’s going to have to do most of the work himself.”

They turned back to the feast, which really was well-done for something so hastily put together. They saw Raphael busy himself by cramming entire turkey legs into his mouth in one go, Hilda flutter from student to student in endless small talk, a very bruised Caspar arm-wrestle any and all challengers while Linhardt vainly tried to keep him from straining himself, Annette run around cleaning up small messes, everyone having a good time.

"And to think we were just beating each other unconscious a few hours ago,” Simurg said.

“For all that Fodlanese call us Almyrans unwashed barbarians and brutes, this isn’t so different than the post-battle feasts we know and love, isn’t it.”

“Not at all. Eat, fight, fuck. People are basically the same everywhere, aren’t they.”

“Yeah, we are. Though there’s more to us than just eating, fighting, and fucking. That’s all animals do.” Claude vaguely waved a hand at the ceiling above them, the engravings on the stonework, the stone gargoyles perched on edifices outside. “Animals don’t make things like this.”

"No, they don’t. If only more people would see, and understand.”

“Oh, they will. Once we’re done here, they will.”

They watched as Sylvain chatted up some student in a different house, presumably to get her back to his room. Judging from the way her gecko daemon responded to Zepida’s purring and rubbing up against his body, it seemed to be going well. “…Dimitri’s room is right next to Sylvain’s, right?”

“HAH!” The timing had to be deliberate; Simurg had to know that he was taking a sip of cider just as she mentioned that. As it was, the cider was no longer in his mouth but against the wall. Worth it though. “Poor bastard; I hope he has earplugs!”

“Maybe we could get some for him as a gift? What do you think: anonymous, or with as much flourish as possible?”

“Hah, either works. I like it, Simi. A snake after my own heart.”

“Claude, I _am_ your heart.”

Claude just laughed in response, soft and easy. “Well then, Simurg my heart, want to rejoin the feast?”

“Always.” Claude put his smile back on and stepped back into the throng of students, the dashing charismatic heir to the Alliance. And nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashe is sweet, but the poor boy just doesn't Get It here. Honestly I felt like that conversation sort of wrote itself, even though they have no supports with each other in-game. Daemon AUs!
> 
> Next time: Byleth talks to Hanneman, learns how to teach, and maybe I'll get to the actual first real battle? 
> 
> And yes this story will have Doropetra too. By the way I am honestly surprised that there is literally no other Ferdie/Hubie/Bernie ship on this site. They have a great dynamic! And besides, we've got our tea time and coffee break; both are only enhanced with cookies and cake!
> 
> Anyway, as always, please let me know what you think of this chapter, comments are food and I hope you all read, enjoy, and have a wonderful week!
> 
> Humans and daemons in this chapter:
> 
> Flayn and ??? (Unsettled)  
Manuela and Puccini (male ring-tailed lemur)


	5. You Are My Pups, And I Will Look After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So...is sending teenagers into live combat an official part of church doctrine?"
> 
> In which Byleth gets some advice and everyone else gets traumatized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it was 13 days but here I am! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and enjoying. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Should I change the tags to graphic descriptions of violence? I'm a veterinarian with a particular interest in trauma cases so I'm fairly inured to such things, but I know I'm probably the outlier.

The sigil floating above Byleth’s outstretched hand looked strangely familiar. Which made no sense, because she had never seen it before in her life. It was…odd, all tight loops and curved lines that put Belial to mind of a butterfly’s wing. Theophania, Hanneman’s wolf spider daemon, appeared to share the same insect-related sentiment from the look of delighted hunger in her many eyes. Belial felt less like a wolf and more like a bug pinned to an examination tray.

“Hanneman, I don’t remember seeing a Crest like that, ever!”

“I haven’t either! Oh, this is astonishing! What a wonderful discovery, a completely unknown Crest, and in our mysterious new professor no less!”

Hanneman was an older man in his mid-fifties, dressed in a formal manner, right down to the monocle. Even his hair was slicked back, except for the little fringe that stubbornly stuck up above his forehead. And yet his face was split open in a boyish grin, his eyes shining with glee. Hanneman himself was not dancing around his office, but Theophania skittered back and forth on the mahogany desk making little squeaks of joy the whole while, so he might as well have been.

Byleth cocked her head at the odd Crest floating in the air before her, a depiction of the Crest that apparently resided within her. There were a lot of things that weren’t her and Belial stuffed in their body, apparently. There was Sothis, and now this mystery Crest too. She idly wondered how many extra things a human body could safely contain. Hanneman didn’t seem to be wondering about that. He was still talking, although she hadn’t been paying attention.

Theophania was talking too. “Research has indicated that crest-bearers can tolerate greater distances of separation from their daemon. The effects seem to be greater with a major crest, but there are simply not enough data points for a statistically significant conclusion! Belial, was it? How far can you be from Byleth?” 

“I’m…not sure, actually. Really far, but I haven’t found a limit yet.” They looked up at Byleth. Better to be vague here, right?

But even that wasn’t vague enough for Theophania as the wolf spider somehow clapped her front legs together. “Hanneman, this is simply astounding!”

“Yes, my dear Theophania!” The older professor had already begun circling Byleth for further investigation. He lifted up her hair, inspected the tattered sleeves of her coat. Byleth didn’t say anything but she didn’t like this. It felt…intrusive, awkward. Sothis was spewing indignant syllables of gibberish, so that wasn’t helpful at all. Best to just deal with it for now and make her exit quickly.

* * *

“An unidentified Crest? Oh my poor Byleth, you’re going to be Hanneman’s new pet project. Might as well resign yourself to it now, all that poking and prodding and asking all sorts of odd questions is just going to be your lot in life now! Here, drink up, you’ll need it.”

It had taken far too long to extricate herself from Hanneman’s inquisition, and now here Byleth was in Manuela’s infirmary. A glass of something amber-colored smelling vaguely like paint thinner somehow materialized in her hands. Manuela was a fast pourer, and an even faster drinker. She had only just propped herself up on the table and yet half the glass had already made its way down her throat. Byleth took a tentative sip, which she immediately coughed up and spluttered all over the wall. Goddess, and she thought her dad’s rotgut was vile! It still burned the inside of her mouth and throat.

“Hey, that’s some expensive whiskey! If you can’t appreciate it, then don’t drink it.” Manuela didn’t seem that annoyed though, more amused than anything else. And even if she had, Puccini’s cackling from her shoulder was evidence enough of her true feelings on Byleth’s inability to hold her liquor. “In all honesty though, Hanneman does mean well. He’s just simply awful at realizing when he’s stepping on peoples’ toes. Just tell him off and he will.” Nodding at her own sage advice, Manuela drank down the rest of the whiskey like it was water and followed up with a self-satisfied burp. The lemur daemon hopped off her shoulder and settled onto one of the infirmary beds. They both, in sync, leaned forward and regarded both Byleth and Belial with anticipatory grins. “So, I bet you’re just _brimming_ with questions for your good friend and colleague Manuela to answer!”

“…Um.”

“…Or you could just be completely out of your depth and about to crash and burn in a spectacular fashion, possibly taking half the monastery with it.”

Manuela leaned back and refilled her glass with even more whiskey. It splashed dangerously with each wild gesticulation she made. “Puccini has a point. Okay, in all seriousness, here’s a dirty little secret. Your class is here to learn military tactics, combat experience, diplomacy, leadership, blah blah blah. But what nobody tells you is that the hardest bit is actually outside the classroom.”

That didn’t make any sense, and Byleth told the overly-flirtatious physician as much. She simply responded with a laugh and another drink. “You’re not just your professor, you’re also their mentor, at least for now. Might end up their friend. But either way, your students aren’t just your students, but also a pack of horny hormonal teenagers trying to learn and deal with their own personal shit at the same time. You’re going to have to help guide them through it all, and minimize the amount of trouble they get themselves into at the same time.”

“I know, I know, it all sounds like hypocritical nonsense coming from her,” Puccini said, easily dodging her now-drunken swipe. “But she is right. Often life problems either create classroom problems or make them worse. Keep an eye on your students. Learn about them, help them. Help them become mostly-functional adults and help them make smart decisions, or at least keep some courtesan’s tea, chocolate, and a handkerchief in your desk for when they inevitably don’t. Be firm when you have to but always kind. There’s some odd ducks in the bunch, but they’re mostly good kids. And be sure to tell us if things get really out of hand, or if there’s any particularly juicy gossip!”

It sounded like good advice. But how would she be able to do that? Even if the Good Days stayed, how would she be able to nurture and guide her students through emotional issues?

_“Don’t worry,” _Sothis said in her head. _“If they’re your students, then they’re my students too. I’ll help you take care of them.”_

Belial looked up at Byleth with her blank expression. “We’ll just have to do our best.”

* * *

If Byleth’s heart beat, it would be racing in her chest as she looked out at the classroom of students. Her students, even if they were only a couple of years younger than her. All of them were seated, scattered throughout the classroom in a pattern that she just knew would end up becoming their unofficially assigned seats for the rest of the year, even though it was only the first day of classes.

Edelgard was front and center, with Hubert on her left and Ferdinand on her right. She already had her notebook opened to a blank page, quill at the ready with several more in reserve. Avarine was on a perch between her and Hubert, who loomed like a specter beside the princess and her gyrfalcon daemon. Thanily sat by Hubert’s shoulder with military precision and stiffness, her fluffy tail curled around her legs. Ferdinand sat to Edelgard’s right, Embrienne nestled somewhere in his hair. He sat up straight in his seat with a broad smile on his face, his notebook also opened with quill inked and ready to write while he drummed another one between his fingers. Every time Edelgard shifted, Ferdinand tried to sit up straighter, as if to one-up her in enthusiasm for class. Edelgard studiously ignored him, but Hubert looked like he was just a little bit closer to murder with every one of Ferdinand’s unnecessary movements.

Dorothea and Petra were right behind the trio from Enbarr, no less enthusiastic but not looking to get involved with whatever tension or nervous energy was brewing among the three in the front row. Several maps, reference books, and at least one dictionary were stacked up between them for easy access. Calphour fluttered between the books and Dorothea’s shoulders while Ardior preened himself, plucking free any loose feathers to turn into spare quills. They both had similar smiles and intense determined gazes.

Caspar was all the way at the edge of the row of desks, right next to the tanks where Peakane swam. She must have had a short range for him to be so close to the tanks like that. Linhardt was next to him, and he was already nodding off. The only reason he didn’t completely pass out onto his notebook was the crumpled bits of paper, sticks, and other detritus that Caspar flicked in his general direction every time his head slipped towards the desk. Eventually, with a muttered, “Ugh, _fine,_” Runilite hopped off Linhardt’s shoulders and into the fishtank, where she flopped onto a piece of driftwood floating in the tank. This also meant that whenever Linhardt fell asleep, his daemon would fall into the water and wake him up. 

Byleth almost didn’t spot Bernadetta at first, but the terrified young woman did show up to class. She had wedged herself all the way in the back corner, curled up on the chair with her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes wide open and searching for any potential threats. She couldn’t see Malecki, but she knew the hedgehog daemon was probably wedged in Bernadetta’s pocket anyway. At least she managed to make it to class. Speaking of which, time to begin.

She spoke as if she had rehearsed the speech over and over in the mirror that morning, which she had. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Byleth Eisner, my daemon is Belial Eisner, and I suppose I’m your new professor. No, I don’t know how this happened either, but I will do the best I can to guide you both inside and outside the classroom. If you have any problems or concerns, please come talk to me about them I’ll do what I can to listen and help.” She was different from other people, and dad had always helped her, so… “You have responsibilities as students in the Officer’s Academy, but it’s only fair to make reasonable accommodations for anybody who needs help along the way. I can’t read your mind though, so you’ll have to tell me if something is wrong. Or write it, if telling me is too difficult.”

Belial and Sothis were both quiet. Good, that probably meant she was doing well. Byleth took a shaky breath and continued. “I may only be a commoner, but I am your professor and mentor, and I hope one day to become your friend. I have a lot of experience in combat and leading small squads of troops. After our introductions, we’re going to go outside and do some sparring practice. That way we can work together and find out what you’re best at.” She looked down at her wolf’s impassive gaze. “But first, let’s talk about the mock battle. You did very well, but I have some concerns about following orders in combat.”

Hubert and Edelgard remained impassive, but their daemons slowly turned to look at Caspar in perfect synchronicity. Caspar, for his part, responded with a nervous laughing grin. Peakane flattened herself against the bottom of the tank. Because she was a clownfish, it did absolutely nothing to conceal her from those accusatory glares.

“I want to tell you all a story,” Byleth said, continuing as if she didn’t notice the brewing confrontation before her. Instead, she swung her left leg up onto the desk.

The class suddenly went very quiet, and very still. The metal brace on her knee shone against the thick scar tissue poking out from underneath it, yes, but in the position that Byleth took her skirt rose up her thigh to expose a dangerously large expanse of smooth pale skin. The class was suspiciously quiet, and although Edelgard’s eyes suddenly went wide Avarine was extremely still.

Neither Byleth nor Belial realized any of this, although she could feel the suppressed laughter bubbling up from deep within Sothis, wherever she actually was. So Byleth continued. “About five years ago I ran ahead in battle against my father’s orders. I saw a way to finish our mission quickly. I overextended myself and took an axe right to my knee. It took weeks of magical healing and physical therapy before I was able to walk again. Even today, years later, I still need a brace to keep my leg from buckling underneath me. I will probably need it for the rest of my life.

“This is what happens when you do not follow instructions in combat. If you throw yourself into a group of enemies without thinking, if you overextend yourself, if you decide to go it alone, you will find yourself surrounded. You will find yourself seriously injured. You may find yourself dead. You are training to be a leader, but you are also learning to work with others. Follow my instructions, but please tell me if you have any questions or concerns about my judgement or a plan of action. But when the swords come out, we need to work together to succeed. And to survive.”

Byleth stepped off the table and moved to the chalkboard. With the first scrape of chalk, the lesson officially began.

* * *

Things…wasn’t going as horribly as Bernadetta had feared they would be. She was still alive, for one thing. She really, really thought she’d be dead by now; that Edelgard would have finally tired of her and so would have arranged for her execution, or Hubert would have assassinated her in the dead of night, or she would have drowned in the pond, or…or…

She curled up in her bed and whimpered, hugging her own knees. She couldn’t even hug Malecki through her panic attacks, not since he settled as a hedgehog a couple years ago. He deserved better than her, a terrified useless pathetic girl who could barely even go to class, somebody who was a waste of air and couldn’t even make a decent wife and was just taking up space here and oh stupid useless Bernie—

“Bernie!” Mal had crawled into her lap and had started nipping her fingers to try and break her out of yet another panic spiral. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want to be your daemon!”

“But why, Mal? You’re so much braver than I am; all I do is hold you back.” She sniffled into her legs. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be a lion, or a big brave bear, or—”

“But Bernie, I don’t want to be a lion, or a big brave bear. I’m happy as a hedgehog. Yes I’m small, but it means I get to be with you. It’s a big scary world out there, and it would be just as big and scary if I were a lion or a bear. But if I’m a little hedgehog, it means I can stay close to you.”

“R-Really?”

“Really.” Malecki butted his head against the palm of her head. “I…guess we have to go to the stables now?”

Bernadetta took a shaking breath that was just as tremulous on the exhale. “I guess we have to, don’t we?”

At first she was terrified of the concept. Working with the horses? With Ferdinand? There was so many ways that could go wrong! She could get kicked, or stepped on, or Mal could get stepped on and killed and then she’d die too or she’d do something really stupid and then Ferdinand would laugh at her and tell everyone what a stupid failure she was and then she’d get expelled from the academy and shipped back home and her father would tie her to a chair again and she’d never ever ever—

She had started to tell Professor Byleth this through the door, the first part at least, but the stoic professor had actually cut her off. She never did that. Bernie kinda liked that about her, that she listened instead of just dismissing her fears. Professor Byleth was weird, sure, all quiet and stoic and sorta detached, and Belial always looked a little bit blank and distant, but she was patient. She listened to Bernie and never asked her to leave her room when she didn’t have to and always made her feel a little bit safer.

Which is why Bernadetta was able to actually hear Professor Byleth out when she explained her assignment to the stables without panicking. Too much. And in the end, she’d reluctantly agreed.

It took a while, but now, after nearly a month, Bernie could admit to herself that Byleth had been right. Working with animals _was_ soothing. They were patient, they listened to her, they didn’t judge. Ferdinand had been surprisingly encouraging and patient with her as well, teaching her how to properly groom the animals, pick their hooves, mix their feed. He had even praised her effusively, going on about how even he struggled to mix the exact right proportions at times and there she was doing it nearly perfectly her first time out. It was…nice. She hoped he wasn’t lying to make her feel better. Oh, what if he was?

No, he seemed honest at least. No, no she couldn’t think about that. Think about the foals! The foals were adorable, just a few weeks old and trailing after their mothers. When Ferdinand was too much Bernie would drift off to the stables where the mares and foals stayed, and watch Marianne care for them. Marianne was a lot like her, but where Mal was just a little bit braver than Bernie, Marianne’s daemon was somehow even more timid and reserved. But either way they both had a way with horses, and sometimes Marianne would share what she knew with Bernie. It was…nice. She liked Marianne, even though the blue-haired woman always looked so sad.

The days passed to weeks to nearly a month, and things were actually going mostly okay. She hadn’t even had an all-day panic attack yet, which was nice. Bernadetta did stay in her room most of the time, and Hubert was terrifying, but the rest of the Eagles seemed to be okay. Working with Ferdinand to care for the horses was going better than expected, and she was starting to get the hang of riding the animals. There was even a greenhouse in the monastery! She and Mal could spend hours in there making a little patch of soil just boggy and acidic enough for her pitcher plants and Venus flytraps. And even though Dedue was often there and always terrifying in his enormous stature and permanently stern expression, his daemon was even bigger—too big to get through the door—and so was stuck outside the greenhouse. That meant that Dedue could only ever work on one side of the building so as not to be too far away from her, and Bernie could always just work on the other side far away from him. It was actually a little sad to think about, having a daemon so big that it limited your life. It would be really hard to hide in her room if Mal was a lion or a bear, she thought as she stroked his spines. There were positives to being a tiny adorable hedgehog.

No, things were going mostly okay. Maybe this…wouldn’t be so bad.

And then Professor Byleth came in one morning with the news that they were being sent on a mission to fight bandits in Zanado, the same bandits that had tried to kill Edelgard, and Bernadetta’s carefully-constructed platform of stability fell apart.

* * *

The idea of taking her students into live combat at the orders of the archbishop sat low in Byleth’s stomach in a way that she didn’t like. Sothis was even more uncomfortable with the idea, and she was never one to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself.

_“Sending teenagers into battle…who decided this would be a good idea?! I can’t just sit by. I have to help.”_

Belial growled. “How? You’re stuck in my head. Byleth’s head. Our heads, whatever. Nobody else even knows you’re there.”

_“Remember how I turned back time to save your life? I’ve been awake for longer, and I think I might be able to do it again.”_

“Wait, are you saying…”

_“I might be able to help you turn back time, if something happens. But I can’t turn time that far back, and there’s only so many times I can do it. And you’re only a mortal; I don’t know what will happen if you play around with this too much!_”

“But you can still turn back time.”

_“Yes. Only if we have to.”_

“Only if we have to.” She turned back towards her students, who all walked the path up the side of the canyon with a mix of apprehension and building dread.

Zanado was a canyon, but it certainly wasn’t red. The stones here were kind of a grayish-brown, as were the crumbling ruins. Maybe the sunsets were particularly red? Or perhaps the red was a metaphor. Either way, it was cloudy, and it was cold. And somewhere deeper in the canyon were the bandits that tried to kill Edelgard and Dimitri and Claude. Bandits that the Black Eagles were now being ordered to execute on behalf of the church.

Edelgard and Hubert looked almost eager, or at least like they were going to enjoy this chance at vengeance. Linhardt, Bernadetta, and Dorothea looked like they were about to throw up. The emotions on her students’ faces were written clear as day, clear enough that even she could see them.

Byleth raised a hand, and everyone fell silent. The already nervous energy turned into a tense hush.

_“Don’t tell them Byleth, if you use my power they won’t remember; you’ll only serve to freak them out even more!”_

“The enemy is likely down there. Scouting ahead would be the safest option for all of you, but while Petra is the stealthiest one here—” the Brigidian princess smiled in pride, “—she lacks the experience to scout without being spotted. Plus this terrain is different from Brigid, right?”

“It is. I have never seen a land so bare of trees back home.”

“Exactly. Thankfully, I have something that can help. Do not be afraid.”

_“I’m warning you!”_

Byleth looked down at Belial, who nodded back. “It’s a Good Day. I’ll let you know what I find.” They loped off, down the canyon, out of sight, to a chorus of gasps and more than a few shrieks.

Byleth stood before her students, utterly impassive, absolutely alone. Ferdinand reached up to his nose where Embrienne rested, just to make sure her fuzzy body was still there under his fingers. Linhardt clutched Runilite like a child with a teddy bear. Even Edelgard reached for Avarine’s outstretched wing, even Thanily pressed up against Hubert’s leg.

“It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” Hubert breathed, “But to see it for myself…”

“No, I was starting to wonder if I had just imagined it too,” Edelgard replied in horrified wonder. Nobody was able to quite look Byleth in the eye. A human without a daemon…it was an aberration, a thing that should not be. It was like staring at a mutilated corpse. A mutilated corpse that still blinked and breathed and spoke.

“How many of you have seen someone die?”

Everybody except Bernadetta and Linhardt raised their hands.

_And how many of you have killed? _Byleth did not ask. She suddenly did not want to know.

She stared through her students and spoke in a monotone. “The first thing you need to know is that this is no mock battle. Do not hesitate; hesitation will get you killed. Because that’s what this is, kill or be killed. And you will likely leave this place with blood on your hands. It’s…hard, especially the first time. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Come talk to me after this, even if you think you’re okay. I’m…not good at this sort of thing, but I’ll listen to you, and give what help I can. Even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on. You’re here at the Officer’s Academy to learn to talk with people, to prevent fighting. But when diplomacy fails, you’re also here for combat. To learn how to fight, to win, to kill. To live for tomorrow, for yourself and everyone else. Because in a few minutes it’s going to be you or them, and I want it to be you who comes home.”

“But…but how do you know we’ll all still be alive tonight?”

Byleth’s eyes slid back into focus. There was a sigh of relief from someone, and—ah, yes, Belial appearing over the rise. She waited for the wolf daemon to return before answering.

“Because you are my pups, and I will look after you.”

* * *

The bandits were scattered on a low mesa, many of them huddling behind some rocks. There was an old broken-down walkway, only hints of the cobblestone remaining, between the bandits and the Black Eagles. Somehow, they had not yet been spotted. Belial’s information had been spot on.

Bernadetta drew back an arrow to scrape her cheek, ready to loose. Her knees were shaking but her fingers were still. Beside her, Hubert and Dorothea’s hands glowed with magic—Dorothea’s sparked with lightning, while Hubert’s oozed a sticky draining sensation. 

“You can do it, Bernie. One clean shot, no hesitation.”

The timid young woman whimpered, but her arrow flew straight and true, right into the bandit’s arm. He cried out in pain, the others grabbed their swords and axes, and the fight was on.

Caspar ran in first, whooping and hollering as he buried the spiked gauntlets into an onrushing bandit. He pulled them out with a squelching sound, blood spattering both him and Peakane’s backpack-turned-portable-tank, and roared as the adrenaline overtook him.

“YEA-HAHA! Is this what all fights are like?!” Caspar’s whole body trembled as he slammed the claws of his gauntlets into the man’s side and dragged them down, tearing him open to bleed out onto his dying daemon and the canyon floor, and he barely seemed to react when another bandit dogpiled him to split open his shoulder and very nearly do the same to Peakane’s tank.

But Linhardt noticed, noticed how Caspar’s body was reacting to the damage and pain he was too hyped-up to feel, and raced into melee to protect his friend. White magic flowed cool and soothing down his fingers, his Crest lighting up to amplify that healing magic and knit Caspar’s split muscle and torn skin back together.

Someone shouted, “Get the healer!” and a woman split off, her sword drawn back ready to run Linhardt right through. And Caspar was locked in melee, unable to fight two people at once.

It was reflex, pure survival instinct. Those same hands that just healed now loosed a powerful blast of wind that slammed into the woman’s chest. There was a visceral cracking sound, a muffled cry. She immediately crumpled, coughing pink foam and gasping for breath, fighting against the cracked ribs and pneumothorax crushing her lungs. Her daemon, some kind of sparrow, fell to the ground beside her and could do nothing more than twitch.

It was a fatal blow without treatment, Linhardt immediately knew, and the bandits had no healers. It was a fatal blow, and it took minutes that felt like years for her to die. Minutes that felt like seconds where she coughed hot pink foam onto Linhardt’s clothes and shoes and the dry earth, minutes that felt like years for her to finally still and her daemon to dissolve into golden dust. Longer still for Linhard to stare at her cooling corpse, his own hands, his beloved Runilite with her red fur now stained redder with blood.

“I…I killed her. What have I done? The blood…”

Her. Her because the bandit the _corpse_ looked female, with a lithe build and a higher-pitched voice and a softer chin and smaller shoulders and a waistline. But just because she looked female didn’t mean she was female; Linhardt knew of people whose genders didn’t match their bodies but it wasn’t exactly like he could ask for her pronouns in the middle of combat, not when she was trying to _run him through_ and it didn’t matter now because _she was dead and he killed her oh by the goddess what have I done—_

Sharp pain and a yelp from Runilite snapped Linhardt out of his spiraling thoughts. He whipped around, a spell on his fingertips that fizzled out when he saw it was Thanily, just Thanily biting down on his daemon’s tail; behind her Hubert fought back to back with Ferdinand, tearing apart their enemies with spell and lance. Hubert’s face was set in a snarl, so Thanily spoke for him.

“Have an existential crisis over taking life if you must, but save it for when we are no longer in mortal peril! You are our only healer, Linhardt!”

“...Right. Right.” He staggered after Caspar, who had already joined several of the others. There was work to be done. Work only he could do. He could heal, he needed to heal. Heal instead of kill.

Because around him everyone was killing and dying.

“I’M GONNA DIE!”

“YOU’RE NOT GONNA DIE!” 

Bernadetta was screaming, sobbing, crying out for them to stay away from her, she wanted to go home, please let this be over! Her crest activated, almost firing the arrows for her as she rode the edge of a panic attack, sheer survival instinct driving her. Dorothea’s eyes were wide as she stared at her thunder magic, and how it reduced a man to little more than a twitching corpse. Petra’s breaths were deep and deliberately even as she sprung out to disable a bandit in a sneak attack meant to cut ligaments and sever tendons, rolled to hide behind a rock, and then did it all over again.

Belial stayed behind to shout orders and attack any daemon that dared to threaten their students. But Byleth ran with Edelgard to take down Kostas. The two of them nodded in understanding and circled the bandit leader like wolves coming in for the kill.

Edelgard gripped her axe, her face set in harsh lines. “Remember me?”

His eyes, already wide at the battle he was losing around them, narrowed. _“You. _The princess and the inhuman bitch! I should have finished you off back there!” He raised his axe. “I’m not going to make that mistake again!”

Kostas ran towards Edelgard with a war cry, but she was ready this time. She parried his axe with her own, using her smaller stature to twist off and roll out of the way of his strike. Avarine flew off her shoulder, splitting off to chase down Kostas’s hornet daemon. She ducked and dodged around the gyrfalcon, but that took concentration, concentration that Kostas badly needed to fight off two warriors at once.

And that was enough for Byleth to drive her sword into Kostas’s back. She pulled it out with a spray of blood; the stench of pierced intestines filled the air. Kostas fell to his knees with a low keening moan, could do nothing more than look up at Edelgard and the cool contempt on her face and the axe in her hands.

“You should have finished the job,” she said, and brought the axe down.

It was actually very difficult, even with an axe, to behead somebody with one stroke. Kostas died from the blow as it crunched through his spine, but the axehead got stuck somewhere in the meat of his neck. Edelgard was forced to step on Kostas’s shoulder for leverage to wrench her weapon free. She looked at Byleth with a mixture of shock and guilt as she did so.

The few remaining bandits fled at the death of their leader. The battle was over. Byleth surveyed the scene and felt something unclench in her as she did so and Belial returned with their report. Nobody had died. Nobody was seriously injured.

At least, not physically.

Dorothea stood over the body of a man she had killed with her magic; a nervous laugh bubbled out of her. “So…is throwing teenagers into live combat an official part of church doctrine?” Edelgard stood up a little straighter and made her way to the young songstress. Something flickered in Hubert’s otherwise stoic gaze at her words as well.

Petra plucked a few feathers from Ardior, let the wind carry them off as she bowed her head and said what could only be some sort of prayer in her native tongue. She was trembling.

Bernadetta collapsed to the ground as the terror of battle caught up to her all at once. She clutched Malecki and sobbed, gasping out incoherent apologies and disbelief at being alive.

Ferdinand leaned against his lance; his fingers were curved around it and shaking. “Why did they not flee sooner? Surely those ruffians knew they were no match for the likes of us. Why did they not flee, and live, and possibly change their ways?”

Linhardt leaned against the façade of a crumbling building, panting and retching as he brought his breakfast back up onto the ground of the sacred canyon. Caspar clapped Linhardt on the back with a shaky, “Great work there, hey come on bud—ulp—” and then immediately vomited alongside him.

Byleth was the Ashen Demon, and so felt nothing about killing beyond a vague hollowness. But seeing her students, no longer children, forced to kill? Well, Sothis as always took the slight things that she was on the cusp of feeling, amplified them, and then gave them words.

_“What have we done?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first true battle! What did you guys think? Next up is...oh, poor Ashe. 
> 
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts and scream along with you! And also see just what you guys are speculating. 
> 
> Also Manuela is a treat to write and Puccini has her one brain cell. Also also, Bernadetta is extremely easy for me to write but also extremely dangerous to write for an extended period of time.
> 
> Humans and daemons introduced in this chapter:  
Hanneman and Theophania (female wolf spider)


	6. Just Following Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byleth and the Eagles are sent to put down a rebellion, Edelgard can't sleep, and many characters show their metaphorical hands.
> 
> Also, even more characters are traumatized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys guys guys look at this adorable drawing of Bernie and Mal! Thank you so much Lychee!
> 
> https://twitter.com/lycheeloving/status/1191978282088091648
> 
> Thank you so much for the kind reviews! I really do read every last one of them with a huge grin on my face.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter! There's quite a lot and it was a lot of fun (if incredibly emotionally painful) to write. Let me know what you think!
> 
> What do you all think of me doing a sort of collection of side-stories of things that I can't really fit into the main story for lack of space and/or flow? Because I often end up with characters bouncing off of each other and there are some pretty funny, as well as less funny but still thoughtful and important ideas in my head.

The march back to Garreg Mach was uncharacteristically subdued. Some people, like Hubert, walked alone, but most people walked together. Caspar patted Linhardt’s back, encouraging him to keep moving, thanking him for his healing magic that knitted together the wounds that still scabbed under his torn clothes. Dorothea leaned against Petra, their daemons flying alongside each other just overhead. Even Bernadetta let Ferdinand wrap his arm around her for support as she sniffled into Malecki’s spines. Edelgard and Byleth brought up the rear, or more accurately they lagged behind. Something was picking at the back of Byleth’s mind.

“Why does this place seem familiar?” She’d never been here in her life. Her dad always made sure to take jobs as far away from Garreg Mach as possible; Remire had been as close as they dared go and look how that ended up. So why did this canyon feel familiar, like a half-remembered dream?

"_I…I think it’s because I’ve been here before. A very long time ago, and…a lot of emotions are tied up in this place,” _Sothis offered with unusual hesitation. _“I…I can’t remember anything else, nothing specific anyway. I wonder what happened here, why I remember it so much?”_

“What I’m wondering is why I find it familiar now too,” Belial added. “First you’re in our head, now you’re sharing your thoughts?”

"_I wish I knew, but I don’t remember anything at all!”_

“I wish you did, then maybe we could—Edelgard?”

The white-haired woman had snuck up behind them. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“…Belial. Just Belial.”

“Hm.” She looked around the ruins surrounding them, the crumbling stone structures that were not content to limit themselves to the ground but also spiraled up the canyon walls and onto the rim of the canyon beyond. “These ruins…there’s not much architecture left, but they don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. Not in Enbarr, or Fhirdiad, or even Deirdru.”

Byleth had been to these places before, but only briefly, and sometimes during the Bad Days when she wasn’t aware of anything. And yet, “I think you’re right.”

“Which means somebody else must have made this ruins.” She folded her arms and looked around. “I wonder why we’ve never heard about them, or where they’ve gone. Or even why they’re gone. You’d think, if this is a sacred site, that the Church would tell us about the people that were once here.”

“Maybe?” Truth be told, she never thought about it. Then again, until recently, she didn’t know much of anything about the church and rarely thought for herself at all. But since Sothis woke up, she was able to do it more and more. And it was so much better this way.

Belial looked out at their students, clinging to each other and reminders that they still lived and breathed. “We should go. I think they need us right now more than anything else.”

Edelgard nodded. “I think we all need you right now, Professor.”

The march back to Garreg Mach was silent and subdued. Hubert and Edelgard were unaffected, while Petra, Ferdinand and Caspar were regaining some color to their face. But Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Lindhardt were still ashen, their daemons slow and distant. Byleth strode up to the front of the impromptu marching order and held up a hand. Everyone stopped at her command.

"You all did very well back there, working together,” she said. Belial sat by her side, watching them all but not judging in any way. “I’m glad you’re all still here and okay in front of me. But I also know how hard this can be. If anybody wants to leave, I completely understand. I will not judge you, and I will make sure nobody else does either.”

ll of her students were silent for a few minutes, their daemons casting furtive glances at each other. Surprisingly enough, it was Bernadetta who spoke first. “I…T-thank you, Professor, but I think, I think I’ll stay. I like it here!” She brought Mal up to her mouth and squeaked into his spines.

“I’ll stay too.” Dorothea’s voice was much more level. “I’ve got a point to prove. I’m not going to wimp out just now.” Petra turned to her with a smile.

Linhardt sighed, a loud echoing thing. “I suppose I’ll remain as well. Somebody has to keep this idiot—” he shouldered Caspar, who shoved him back, “—safe, and I’m the only one here who can heal. You really should get someone else to do that by the way, Professor. Unlike you, I can’t be far away from Runilite so I can only tend to one person at a time.”

“Can you even cast spells?” asked Peakane.

“I’m honestly not sure. It might be an interesting experiment.”

“...Thank you, all of you. Regardless, you all have the next two days off. Please, come to me at any time. I’m always here to listen.”Byleth and Belial looked out upon their students with…with…it was an unknown feeling, swelling in their chest around their still and silent heart. Something that made them smile at the sight of their students, want to see them grow into the adults they could be.

Ah. That’s what it was.

Pride.

* * *

Of course, that wasn’t the end of Byleth’s problems. There was the little matter of her being able to separate from Belial. Belial had always been able to be far away from her, and so to her it was normal. She knew other people thought it was unusual, but didn’t realize just how much it would frighten her students.

But frighten them it did. And of course, being gossipy teenagers, they were unable to keep it to themselves. Within hours of returning to the monastery, Caspar told Hilda, Dorothea told Ingrid, Ingrid told Sylvain, and Sylvain and Hilda told _everyone._ By dusk of the following day the entire monastery knew that Belial could separate themselves from Byleth with no ill effects at all.

So now even she could feel the eyes of all the students, and most of the staff, following her—some with trepidation, some with curiosity. Dimitri and Delcabia seemed frightened of her. Delcabia would snort and try to hide behind him whenever she passed by. Claude would not leave her alone. It seemed like every time she turned around he was there, asking some question or another about whether she was always like this, how she came to be this way, questions she didn’t feel entirely comfortable answering and had no idea how to answer even if she did. She’d always been like this. And she’d always been quiet and distant and unaware of the world during the Bad Days, but…but…

Which was how Byleth found herself knocking on her father’s door, hoping that he would be here this time. He’d been out for the past several days on one mission or another. Byleth had talked to Rhea about what she wanted to ask her father, but the archbishop hadn’t been quite as helpful as either of them had hoped. Sure she said all the right comforting things, made her feel like she needed to get more of Lady Rhea’s praise and trust, but this was something she really need to talk to Dad about.

Thankfully, he opened the door this time. He looked tired, like he had only just gotten back. Domaghar was also tired; she kept nodding off and bumping her chin against the desk. Thank goodness there were sloping ramps to the second story in addition to stairs, or else they might have been forced to move the captain’s quarters entirely. Still, as exhausted as he was, Jeralt shook himself awake at the sight of his daughter. “What is it, kid?”

Byleth slunk into the office where Jeralt could actually get a good look at her, and he didn’t like what he saw. Her shoulders were slumped and she stared at the ground instead of off into the distance. Belial’s ears were lowered and their tail dragged behind them. For Byleth, she might as well have been wiping away tears. Alarm rocketed through Jeralt at the sight of his daughter so upset. He held her shoulders as Domaghar leaned down for Belial to press against her head. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?”

“Dad? Is something wrong with me?”

Jeralt stilled. He’d heard the whispers; there’s only one thing this could be about. “Haaaah…Kid, come over here.” He sat down and patted a spot on the rug next to him. Without prompting she sat down and leaned against him, just as she had done around campfires for over twenty years.

“Kid, Byleth, nothing’s wrong with you.” He wasn’t looking at her, just…sort of at the space between them and the door, where a campfire would be. “Sure, you may be a little…odd, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, or that you’re a bad person.”

It was a lie, the first part at least. Something was Wrong with his daughter, so wrong that he had to put an emphasis to it. Not the part about her and Belial being able to separate, although that was unnerving in and of itself, but all the other parts. Her days, weeks, sometimes even months of blankness where she wasn’t aware of anything, Her emotional range, which went past stunted and could only be described as barely-existent. The way Belial sometimes seemed like an ordinary animal rather than a daemon, the very shape of his daughter’s soul. How only her dreams of that strange girl on the throne managed to wake her from her torpor.

Just what had Rhea done to his daughter?

He hadn’t been around much the past couple of months; Rhea kept sending him on one mission after another as if to make up for over twenty years of lost time all at once. But Byleth looked so much better, so much more like the woman she could be, the woman she had grown up to be. And even if something was Wrong with his daughter, it didn’t make her bad.

Byleth noticed, actually noticed the way he looked at her with fondness and pride. “Dad?” 

“I’m just so proud of you. Come here, kid!” He pulled her into a one-armed hug, curling his other hand into a loose fist to give her a noogie and mess up her hair even more.” Doma batted Belial to the ground; the wolf daemon sprang to their feet and barked back, their tail wagging.

They only stopped when Doma’s heavy hoofbeats threatened to knock things off the walls. Byleth attempted to smooth her hair; her face settled back into that neutral expression.

“How are the little brats, by the way?”

Byleth looked down at the floor. “They’re doing okay. That last fight did a lot to them. I’ve been giving them some time, trying to find out what they like. Edelgard’s birthday is in a few days; I was thinking of going into town and buying her some sweets.

“Heheh, looks like they’ve already got you wrapped around their fingers. Ah, I know what that’s like.” He knew all too well. “Just remember to teach them the most important thing alongside all that combat and diplomacy nonsense.”

Domaghar chimed in. “Kid, what’s the most important thing?”

“To think for yourself.” Dad had drilled that into her, made it very important for some reason. Although…she was starting to understand why, now that she had had so many Good Days and so was capable of doing so. “And watch out for Rhea.”

“That’s my girl.” Jeralt hugged her again. “And it’s especially important in a place like this. Both of those things, actually. But you can handle it. I know you can.”

* * *

Warm weather came late to the mountains around Garreg Mach, but when it arrived it did so with vigor. It was one of the first indisputably nice days out in months—a free day no less—and the students were taking full advantage of it. Linhardt was napping on a chair by the fishing pier while Caspar had stripped down to his smallclothes, chucked Peakane into the pond, and cannonballed in after her. Bernadetta had opened up her window to let in some fresh air, and anybody who walked close enough to her room could hear her humming. Even Lady Edelgard had taken off her outer jacket and cape, although she still covered every inch of skin below her neck with glove, sleeve, and stocking—Hubert would have to arrange for more breathable clothing for the warm summer months. Hubert himself had also taken off his outer jacket in concession to the warm air, although unlike certain degenerate reprobates he kept his dress shirt on. Speaking of certain degenerate reprobates, Albarrog throwing Zepida into the fishing pond after Sylvain was a nice touch.

“It’s a shame that Sylvain’s only goals in life seem to be having as much sex as possible and acquiring every venereal disease known to man,” Thanily muttered as she and Hubert watched the redhead wring out his hair. “He is clearly intelligent, and somebody with a history like his would likely be a sympathizer to Lady Edelgard’s ideas.”

“Yes but if he dares approach our lady we’ll have to kill him.”

“He probably knows that, which is why he’s been keeping his distance.”

They fell silent as Dorothea and Calphour walked by, although Hubert did return her greeting with a raised hand. He respected Dorothea, who had managed to rise above her commoner birth and wretched background to make a name for herself at the opera. She was incredibly perceptive—he and Lady Edelgard had spent some time discussing Dorothea’s offhand comment back in Zanado—and had a wickedly sharp tongue. In short, she was the kind of person who exemplified his lady’s ideals and goals of a brighter Fodlan, a place where people could rise and fall based on merit alone, not circumstances of birth or the misfortune of being bestowed a Crest. They would have to approach her at some point, before she put enough pieces together on her own.

Petra was also a woman to watch, for similar reasons. Hubert had immense respect for her. A political hostage could very easily fall to bitterness and despair, especially after having their daemon settle while in captivity, and yet she managed to stay positive and determined. Her goals were clear, and they were ones he could sympathize with. The teachings of the church of Seiros were disgustingly insular and xenophobic, and Hubert was honestly surprised that Petra had not meet more resistance from their other classmates. She was both intelligent and one of the hardest workers he had ever seen. If Lady Edelgard could forge a peace treaty with Petra, then they could very well have valuable allies in the war to come.

Even Bernadetta was starting to earn his grudging respect. The young woman was clearly terrified of the entire world, and if it weren’t for Malecki and a fear of failing out then she probably would have never left her room at all. Still, she was trying, and even he could appreciate the effort. There was clearly something going on in Bernadetta’s past. He had heard certain rumors about House Varley…he would have to investigate further once he had some spare time.

“The women of the Black Eagles truly command respect,” Thanily mused.

“I agree. I wish I could say the same about the men. Caspar is a reckless idiot, albeit a persistent one, and Linhardt would be capable of greatness if he only applied himself. And Ferdinand…”

_“Ugh.”_ Thanily’s voice dripped with disdain. What an idiot. He reminded Hubert of an overgrown puppy, jumping at anything remotely attention-grabbing and stumbling over too-large paws all the while. Ferdinand was not outside enjoying the nice weather. Instead, he was in the infirmary with two broken ribs after deciding to take on not one, but two Demonic Beasts at once in some foolhardy attempt to outperform Lady Edelgard. As if such a thing was possible. Predictably, Ferdinand had found himself outmatched, and Professor Byleth was forced to run in and rescue him. Hubert supposed it would be too much to hope that this near-death experience would spur Ferdinand to actually engage in some self-reflection for once in his life. As it was, Ferdinand von Aegir (as he insisted on using his full title whenever possible) would likely continue to be a thorn in both him and his lady’s side.

“You know,” Thanily said, “Embrienne is so small, and Ferdinand hates using that capsule outside of battle. It would be quite easy for me to eat her, and his death would simply be dismissed as a tragic accident.”

“Lady Edelgard has expressly forbidden murdering our classmates,” Hubert muttered behind a smirk. “Still, I am rather fond of the idea.”

“A shame we will have to put up with him and his incessant…Ferdinandness.” There really was no other way to put it. “At least he is a fairly benign distraction, as far as these things go.”

They fell silent as Byleth walked by, striding to the fishing pond with pole in hand. Belial walked beside them, seemingly oblivious to the less-frequent but still-present second glances and hushed whispers they got as they passed the rest of the students and faculty. Now there was an enigma. Their professor truly deserved the moniker “Ashen Demon,” with her deadened emotions and silent efficiency on the battlefield. There was an eerie charisma about her that he wasn’t sure she was entirely aware of. And then there was the matter of her and Belial.

“She has a Crest, but only the one,” Thanily said. “And I don't think she…she doesn’t act like the others did when they were severed.”

“But she still does not act entirely normal either. And even if she did, the undue fawning attention that ‘Lady’ Rhea bestows upon her bodes ill.” Hubert frowned. “I would say that Rhea made her our professor in an attempt to spy on us, but she chose our house of her own free will.”

“Just don’t be that blatant in your attempts to threaten her again,” Thanily added. “You weren’t even trying to be subtle, Hubert! I know she is unnerving and we can’t trust her, but we have to be more inconspicuous about it.”

“She wasn’t even worried by our threats. With her emotionlessness, I cannot tell if she was truly not frightened of us or if she did not know to be frightened of us.” He rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. “I wish she was easier to read. But then again, if she were, we would not be having this conversation, would we?”

“Either way, Lady Edelgard seems to have a…blind spot…when it comes to our professor. We need to talk with her about…wait…” Thanily trailed off, one ear twitching. Then she lept off the stairs onto the ground below. There were growls, the short sound of a scuffle, a high-pitched squeak cut off by the sound of Hubert’s boots slamming against the stone as he vaulted off the side of the staircase, the pained tug at his heart forcing him along the quickest path back to Thani. And Thani herself bent over a weasel daemon, the smaller creature pinned beneath her until he shifted to a large wolverine and tried to struggle out of her iron grip.

“Stop, please, you’re hurting me!” He shifted again, a bear thrashing against the smaller fox daemon, but Thanily still clamped down on his ear.

Male. Unsettled. Hubert strode up to the daemon and leaned in as close as he dared get. “Zilbariel, why were you spying on us? And just where is the rest of you?”

Thanily bit down harder, and Hubert was rewarded with a faint cry of pain from the bushes close to the dormitories. She let go of Zilbariel and they both raced over and dragged out a panting Lysithea, leaving her on her hands and knees as she caught her breath. Several students saw the scene but decided to give them a wide berth for fear of incurring the wrath of Hubert.

Lysithea gasped from the shared pain of her injured daemon, a few reflexive tears creeping out of the corner of her eyes despite her best attempts to hide them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!”

“Why were you spying on us, Lysithea?”

“Why would I spy on you, you creep? I was spying on Professor Byleth!”

He ignored the jab. “And why were you spying on Professor Byleth?”

“You know why!” Zilbariel raced back to her, leaping into Lysithea’s arms as a ferret that she curled her body around in a protective embrace. “Can she and Belial really separate from each other? That’s not right. Why is she able to do that?”

“Hubert…” Thanily’s voice was soft and distant. “Zilbariel wasn’t in any pain until I attacked, and it’s pretty far from the stairs to the bushes.

It was pretty far. Farther than he and Thanily could stand to be apart despite intense training in his youth that never wanted to repeat again. And yet Lysithea was not pained by that. Hubert’s thoughts ran up against each other as he looked down at Lysithea, bent over Zilbariel so all he could see was her crown of

_white hair_

Thanily gasped, a barely audible sound, and took a half-step back. Hubert’s eyes widened. _No._

“…Thanily?”

“Lysithea…” Hubert gave her a shallow bow. “I apologize for attacking Zilbariel. Please forgive my impudence.”

“Uh…Hubert? Not that I won’t accept your apology, but are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” No, he wasn’t, but he would never admit that to anyone. The horrified hypothesis still ran cold through him. Lady Edelgard needed to know about this, and the sooner the better. Not to mention that Lysithea was a powerful and intelligent woman in her own right. “I understand your concerns with our professor. Lady Edelgard and I have been discussing them.” That wasn’t quite true, but only in the sense that they had not _yet_ discussed said concerns. “Lady Edelgard’s birthday is in a few days. She and I will be having tea in the gazebo behind the dining hall shortly after lunch. It is a secluded location, so as long as we remain quiet we should not be disturbed. Your presence may answer some of your questions. I would recommend bringing some pound cake, preferably lemon pound cake if you can get it.”

And then he left, leaving a very confused Lysithea behind, leaves still caught in her hair.

* * *

It had taken Byleth a lot longer to get back from town than she anticipated. She had helped Ashe get some supplies, and then there was that issue with the thief that ended with the boy running off and returning sans stolen book but with an explanation on his personal philosophy on helping others. Then she saw Sylvain jilting some unfortunate woman, and_ that_ turned into an impromptu lecture on inappropriate behavior which ended in Sylvain stalking off halfway through in a huff, Zepida hissing and growling beside him. Then...

Well, suffice to say that it was already dark by the time she got back. At least Byleth had managed to make it to the candy shop before it closed. She hoped Edelgard liked dark chocolate orange truffles. They were not cheap, but Byleth wasn’t about to skimp on her students. Especially when the student in question was the princess to the Adrestian empire, and tomorrow would be her eighteenth birthday.

Which was why Byleth found herself outside Edelgard’s room shortly before midnight, box of truffles in one hand and a birthday card in the other. The plan was to leave the birthday card on her door, then surprise her at teatime later. She’d also obtained a belated birthday present for Ferdinand; a gleaming steel halberd barely a week out of the forge.

A lone pained cry interrupted her meandering thoughts, stopped her still in front of Edelgard’s room.

“Nn...you can’t...mom, dad, please...save...!”

“Is that a ghost?”

_“Really? This is a monastery; there are no ghosts here!”_

“El! El, please...no, please, I...El!”

Belial snarled. “That was Avarine!”

Was she being kidnapped? Where was Hubert?! No time to think; Byleth and Belial slammed into door once, twice, three times, at which point it flew open and they flung themselves inside.

So did the hand axe, which embedded itself a half-inch deep into the wooden door just above Byleth’s head, the handle quivering slightly. Byleth traced the trajectory of the axe back to Edelgard, who was sitting straight up in her bed, her blankets rumpled around her waist. Her eyes were wide and wild; one hand groped at a bare nightstand for another hand axe while the other clutched Avarine to her hammering heart as she gasped for air.

“Edelgard?” She had never before seen the princess so lacking in composure.

Edelgard was still somewhere else, gulping down ragged breaths, Avarine pressing herself further against her chest.

“Edelgard!”

The princess came back to herself slowly. Her eyes slid back into focus, settled into their normal coolly evaluating gaze. Her posture relaxed, straight but not rigid. Her breathing slowed, her hands settled to her sides. Avarine hopped down to her lap and preened her feathers back to smoothness, though the gyrfalcon daemon stayed close enough to feel the rise and fall of Edelgard’s breath. And her nightgown was still soaked with sweat and plastered to her skin, outlining every muscle and curve. Even the nightgown had long sleeves that concealed her wrists.

Edelgard stared above Byleth’s shoulder to the axe lodged in the door; her expression softened into guilt. “Ah! P-Professor, I am so sorry! Are you okay?” She paused. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

Even two months ago Byleth wouldn’t have been able to catch the quaver in her voice. But now she could. “I got something for you, and then I heard a voice.” Sothis nudged the back of her head, urging her forward. “I’m okay, but are you?”

A sigh. “I’m okay. It’s just...”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes. I’ve had them since I was a child.” Edelgard turned towards Byleth, who was silent and waiting for her to continue. Nobody else was going to fill the empty air. Avarine’s talons tore into the sheets, mirrored Edelgard’s suddenly clenched fist as she continued, “Stupid, useless nightmares I can’t control...”

Edelgard hated losing control more than anything else. And here she was, suffering night after night and too proud to tell anybody.

Byleth found herself seated on Edelgard’s bed, one hand resting in the space between them for the princess to reach for if she wanted to. “I have repeating dreams too, although they don’t seem as bad as yours. I would talk about them with Dad. Do you want to talk about it? It may help.”

The room was silent for a long time before Edelgard broke that quiet with a sigh. “Hubert isn’t here tonight. And...for some reason, I feel I can trust you.” She looked up to meet Byleth’s distant expression. “But you must swear to never tell a single soul.”

Byleth nodded. That was an easy promise to keep. And even if it wasn’t, she would keep it anyway.

Another long sigh, then silence as Edelgard prepared herself. Finally, in a soft distant voice, almost a monotone, she spoke.

“I dream of my older brother, crying out for his daemon, bound and chained in a cell all alone. My older sister, begging for help that never came. My younger sister, babbling words beyond meaning...I had ten siblings, once. Eight older, two younger. Ten siblings, and yet I am the heir to the throne. Do you know why?”

Edelgard fell silent, no longer able to continue. Avarine picked up where she left off. “Every single one of them became crippled with illness, or went mad, and then...they died. All of them. I had ten siblings, and now I have none.”

“Edelgard, that’s...” The worst thing she had ever heard. Something tore at her chest, a need to do something, but what?

Avarine kept talking. She wasn’t even looking at anyone anymore. Neither was Edelgard. It was like a dam had burst. “In the end, I was the only one who could inherit the throne. I suppose the nightmares are a reminder, to never forget what happened, never let it happen to anyone ever again. The future of the Adrestian Empire...of everything...depends on me. I’m the only one left to shoulder the burden.”

What could Byleth possibly say to that? She couldn’t think of anything to say. But maybe....

She shifted a little closer, and placed her hand over Edelgard’s (it was bare, Edelgard always wore gloves, and she could feel the rough edges of scar tissue), comforting her in the same way her students comforted each other after Zanado.

Edelgard breathed in at the contact, a short shallow inhalation instead of the desperate clawing from before. She looked back up to Byleth. “I...never told anyone about this before. Hubert is the only one who knows. Please, forget I said anything. It’s late. You should go to bed.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone? I...I could stay.” Sothis hadn’t nudged her there, she would later realize. That was all Byleth.

Edelgard shook her head, although there was a curious pink flush on her cheeks and the back of her neck. “No, that would be...improper. I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with these nightmares by myself before.”

A huff of disapproval from Belial that Sothis echoed from the back of their mind. “You have, but that doesn’t mean you should. I’ll stay here tonight. Byleth can go back to our room.”

Edelgard and Avarine glanced at each other. “Will you talk until we fall asleep?” Avarine asked in a small voice. “That way I’ll know you’re still, well, here.”

That didn’t make much sense and Avarine wouldn’t elaborate, so the wolf responded with a cocked head and an, “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Edelgard.”

“...Sleep well, my teacher.”

Byleth left, but Belial remained. This was a mistake, Edelgard thought, as nausea clawed up in her. But then Belial spoke and they...sounded like Belial. Quiet and distant in a slightly unnerving way, but not whimpering and begging for their human, begging for death. Not a broken empty shell. If she closed her eyes, it was like Professor Byleth was beside her. Belial spoke in a monotone, something about a past battle they were in. But the content didn’t matter, only the voice. Only the presence of another person, a weight above the covers as she settled back underneath them, a reminder that she and Avarine were not alone.

Slowly, Edelgard fell back asleep.

* * *

Belial was still there in the morning, a curled-up lump on the far edge of the bed where neither they nor Edelgard could accidentally brush against the other. But the wolf daemon was still there, keeping her company in a way she had lacked for some time. Edelgard had fallen back asleep, and the rest of her dreams had been better. _Significantly _better, she thought with a blush, not quite able to look Belial in the eye. Those dreams may have been highly improper, but at least it was a, ah, pleasant start to her birthday.

A knock on the door startled Edelgard out of her drifting and _highly inappropriate, stop that El!_ thoughts. “Ah!” Behind her, Ava nearly fell off her perch with a squawk. She stared at the offending door, in which the axe was _still_ embedded, too high up for her to reach without jumping or standing on a chair. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Byleth’s voice filtered through the door; Belial sat up at the sound of it, ears pricked up in attention. And it was this which made guilt wash over Edelgard. What kind of person was she, taking someone’s daemon away from them? Even if Belial offered, even if Byleth was unaffected by the distance, she shouldn’t have spent the night alone just because of one of her student’s shameful weakness. She sprinted towards the door and flung it open, catching Byleth mid-knock.

Her professor was already dressed, and here Edelgard was, still in bare feet and a nightgown. “Professor, I am so sorry. I should have never taken Belial from you; that was incredibly cruel of me. Please, forgive me.”

Belial hopped off the bed. “There’s nothing to forgive. I offered, and you needed me more than Byleth did.” They padded over to Belial and leaned in for a head scratch.”

It wasn’t that Edelgard didn’t appreciate it, but it made no sense. Sure she could be far away from Ava, but to do so for an entire night…She didn’t suffer the anguish of separation anymore, but there was a pain all the same. Yet Byleth didn’t seem to care either way. There probably wasn’t much point in arguing, and it did help her, so, “Thank you, my teacher.”

“Of course. And Edelgard, last night wasn’t the best time, but happy birthday.” She held out a small wrapped box and a card.

“I…thank you.” She took the box. “I’ll open it later.”

“Let me know how you like it.” Her face softened slightly. Was that Byleth’s equivalent of a smile? “I need to grade your papers, but happy birthday. I hope the rest of your day goes better.” Then she and Belial walked back down the hall, leaving Edelgard and Avarine with a card and a box of—the paper made a very satisfying tearing noise—truffles that looked and smelled absolutely exquisite.

The rest of her day went just as well. Even Ferdinand had remembered her birthday and gotten her a present, something which Hubert could not help but tease her about over tea. They had to talk shop, sure, but today they could also relax. Just a little bit, just for an hour.

“Heh.” Edelgard folded her hands under her chin and smiled.

“What is it, Lady Edelgard?”

“Nothing. It’s just, when I see you at the monastery, studying with everyone—”

“—Messing with Ferdinand’s head—”

“It makes me wonder what kind of life you might have had without me. Without all…this. That’s all.”

Hubert chuckled and took a sip of his tea. He normally hated the stuff, but had drunken the Hresvelg blend so many times that it had sort of grown on him. “I thought I had left my years of carefree innocence behind me.”

“If we ever had them at all,” Thanily chimed in.

“But I cannot deny that I find myself enjoying my time at the monastery.”

Edelgard smiled again, a softer one this time. “I feel the same way. Even if we’re only playing at being students, there truly is something so…innocent about it all. I’m glad we have a chance to experience these halcyon days, even if it’s only for a little while.”

They continued that conversation for a while, until soft footfalls announced another guest. Edelgard, Hubert, and their daemons fell silent as Lysithea and Zilbariel entered the small enclosed space. She held a pound cake with lemon-yellow frosting.

“Okay Hubert, I’m here, now what did you mean by…answers…”

Lysithea trailed off as she and a confused Edelgard locked eyes and took each other in. Daemons on their shoulders, cloaked in long hair bleached bone-white. Every inch of skin below their neck covered in clothing, even in the warmth of this sunny day, even as sweat pooled in the creases of Edelgard’s clothes and she knew they must in Lysithea’s as well.

Lysithea was thinking the same thing. She had to, with the way her perpetually-wary eyes were wide, her body stiff. Zilbariel, a white ermine curled around her shoulders, broke the silence with a whispered, “Charon and Gloucester.”

She could only have meant one thing by that. Or two things, as the case may be. Edelgard took a deep breath, her eyes closed as she held it, let it out slowly. Slow, controlled. No holding back now. Avarine replied for her, a sad confirmation. “Seiros and Flames.”

She opened her eyes to see Lysithea wiping away tears, and knew from the stinging in her eyes that she would soon be doing the same as well. “I was only two when they started,” Lysithea added.

“…You must have been their prototype, and I their final product. Oh Lysithea, I am so sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I don’t want pity, not even yours. It’s not your fault, and being sorry won’t change anything. I’m just…it’s funny, but for some reason I’m really grateful right now.”

“So am I. I think it’s because I’m not alone anymore. There’s somebody else out there who understands.”

* * *

Caspar announced his arrival and important news in his typical fashion: by kicking open the door to the training grounds and shouting his news at top volume with no regard to whomever might be around.

“Didja hear? Thunder Catherine’s back! Awww, yeah!!!”

Caspar would have happily shouted this to an empty room, but his guess was right and there were two people at the training grounds. Ingrid and Leonie were over by the training dummies, sparring with training lances. Caspar’s shout came just as Leonie thrust her lance, making her overshoot and drop it on Albarrog.

“Ow! Yeesh, watch it!”

Kamen winced. “Sorry!”

“Wait, Thunder Catherine is here?” Ingrid’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying!”

“Sorry, but who’s Thunder Catherine?”

Leonie might as well have asked where the Empire was, judging from their reactions. Both Caspar and Ingrid goggled at her in disbelief. “Only the coolest knight ever! She’s a monster on the battlefield, tearing up all her foes with Thunderbrand!”

“That’s her Hero’s Relic,” Ingrid added.

“She’s like, ‘Pow! Bam! In the name of Seiros, I’ll destroy you, evildoers!’ And then she totally does!”

“She’s honest, she’s just, she’s got a sacred weapon, and her daemon’s a ram. She is a model of chivalry.”

“Haha, before Peakane settled she’d become a sheep and we’d totally play at being Thunder Catherine and Fortinbras.”

“Caspar, you still pretend to be Thunder Catherine,” Peakane teased from inside her backpack.

“Yeah but you can’t be Fortinbras anymore; you’re a clownfish.”

“Heh.” Leonie folded her arms. “Well, you two can brag about chivalry all you want but that won’t help you if you die in battle. And besides, so many of them are all talk, no action—or the wrong kind of action. I still say Captain Jeralt is the best knight ever.”

“Blasphemy!”

The reason for Thunder Catherine’s arrival was currently in a heated argument with Professor Hanneman. Byleth would have just turned into the captains’ quarters, but something about his tone of voice made her stop outside the antechamber and listen in.

“Your Holiness, I must protest! This mission may be necessary, but I cannot in good conscience send my students on it. These are not bandits, but civilians. More importantly, this is Ashe’s father we are talking about!”

“Fuergios is still unsettled,” Theophania added from his shoulder. “On top of everything else, I shudder to think of the consequences that this could have on her form.”

Rhea’s voice was placid, but Byleth couldn’t see her face. Her face was always pretty calm though anyway. “Professor Hanneman, it is imperative that our students understand their civic duty and place in Fodlan as knights—"

“—No, Your Holiness,” Hanneman interrupted. Byleth and Belial stared at each other with wide eyes, and Byleth could feel Sothis sit up to pay closer attention; metaphorically speaking, anyway. “I am fully aware of my students’ civic duty, but sending this class of Blue Lions on this particular mission is not civic duty. It is cruelty!”

“Hanneman.” There was a new edge to Rhea’s tone, one that Byleth had never heard before and reminded her of the moment before an arrow was shot. She looked down and Belial was already gone, had already headed over to the antechamber.

“Ah, Belial. It is a true joy to see you. Hanneman, you are dismissed. Please come in, Professor Byleth.”

Byleth watched as Hanneman stormed past her, barely-restrained fury carved into his face. She entered slowly. There was nobody else in the antechamber, not even Seteth. Just Rhea and her mantis daemon in the capsule. She was still speaking. “Professor Byleth, I have heard such wonderful things about your ability to teach. I knew I made the right decision in hiring you. How are you adjusting to life at the monastery?”

“It’s going okay. The Black Eagles are good people.”

“I’m sure they are; and with you as their guide they will soar to even greater heights. About that…I have a mission for you. We have evidence that a Kingdom noble, Lonato Gaspard, has allied with the Western Church, raised a militia, and is planning on rebelling against the Central Church itself.” The edges of her face twisted into a snarl. “Such blasphemy against the Goddess cannot stand. The Knights of Seiros have already been dispatched, but you and your students are being assigned to accompany them and help with the aftermath.”

It didn’t seem like something that Byleth could argue against, and even if she did, she didn’t know how to. Never really made a decision like that before. So instead Byleth nodded.

“Good girl.” Rhea’s face smoothed back into its tranquility. “I knew we could rely on you. This mission should prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to ever turn their blades on the church.”

Byleth _felt_ Sothis freeze in the back of her head. Not the usual quiet of her going on standby, but the deliberate silence of somebody who needs to be very, very careful about whatever they say or do next. So Byleth just nodded, and Belial said nothing.

“Excellent. I knew we could count on you.” She reached out and ran her hand down Byleth’s hair, one long stroke that ended with the strands between her immaculate fingers. “Please, feel free to visit me any time. I’m sure we can learn a great deal from each other.”

That must mean she was dismissed. Byleth walked out, Belial’s tail low beside her and with a queasy feeling in her stomach. She needed to be away from the antechamber. Or the cathedral, or anywhere that reminded her of the Goddess or the church.

Which is why she found herself back at the fishing pond, channeling that queasy feeling into terrorizing the fish swimming within and drastically reducing their population. Flayn would certainly be happy at dinner tonight.

_“You always have a choice! You don’t have to do this!” _Sothis and Belial were arguing again.

“Great, can you figure out a way to decline this mission and keep our students safe? Because I can’t!”

_“I thought the whole point of these missions was learning to lead troops and keep the peace, not…”_ Sothis waved her hands in frustration, _“Follow the church’s orders or else!”_

“Neither did I but I can’t think of a better solution! They’re our pups, and we have to look after them!”

“Professor! There you are.” That was Dimitri’s voice, and it sounded out of breath.

He bent over to catch it, Delcabia filling in for him. The boar looked particularly agitated. “Please, come with me right away. There’s an emergency with Ashe.”

_More importantly, this is Ashe’s father we are talking about!_

Byleth had a bad feeling that she knew what this was about.

“Mercedes found Ashe in the cathedral; she’s collecting the rest of the Lions right now for moral support,” Dimitri explained as they ran down the corridor to his dorm room. “He’s utterly distraught; it took me some time to get an explanation out of him, and what I heard…” He shook his head.

Ashe was, indeed, curled up on Dimitri’s bed, Fuergios in the form of a tiny puppy making low whines. He looked up at Byleth’s entrance, and he looked...awful. The normally bright-eyed cheerful boy was pale to the point of being ashen. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears streaking down his face. His frame shook, as did his voice. It quavered. He sounded like he was going to be sick.

“Urgh…Professor,” he said, a low croak, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “It’s not true. Please, it can’t be true! Lonato took me in, when he had every right to turn me over to the guards. He’s a kind man; he wouldn’t do something like this! There has to be some misunderstanding somewhere this has to be a mistake!” Ashe was frantic now, words running up against each other. Delcabia lashed her tail at Ashe’s distress and her inability to help.

Fuergios rolled over, her tail tucked between her legs as she looked past Belial. “Please, Belial, Professor, please don’t let the knights kill him. I’m begging you, there has to be a trial or something, please!”

“…”

_This mission should prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to ever turn their blades on the church._

“…I’ll try.”

She stayed there for some time, just holding Ashe as he fell apart in fear and dread for his father, his family. She stayed there until the rest of the Blue Lions piled into the room, nearly shoulder to shoulder as their daemons wedged themselves into one corner of the room to prevent any accidental contact, and took over her attempts to comfort the distraught boy. Byleth and Belial were one human and daemon too much, and so she slipped out, past Levia (forced to remain outside Dimitri’s room due to her immense size, her horns scraping the walls), and back to the stairs.

Hubert stopped her. He must have been listening to open his door just as she passed. Byleth turned to glare at him; what was it now? This wasn’t the time to threaten her.

…But Hubert didn’t look like he was going to threaten her again. He looked angry, yes, but Thanily’s ears were lowered, her head drooped. She looked…sad. Hubert glanced down the hallway to Dimitri’s room and then said in a low voice, “Mark my words, there won’t be a trial. Despite their honeyed words the church holds no mercy, no forgiveness for those who would dare question their dogma or challenge their authority. Lonato is already condemned, and we will return to Garreg Mach with his head.”

* * *

Hubert was right, of course.

Catherine and Fortinbras did live up to the name of Thunder Catherine. She was an imposing and competitive woman whom Caspar idolized, unquestioningly devoted to Archbishop Rhea. Thunderbrand was one of the Hero’s Relics, a gift supposedly bestowed by the Goddess. Byleth had never seen a sword like it before. Even before the glowing bit, it looked like it was made of several overlapping plates of an unknown material, with several curved barbs or spines that put Byleth to mind of horns, or ribs. It cut through flesh and metal alike like butter.

But what was more important was this:

Except for some personal knights and a couple of oddly-clad mages whose presence seemed to startle Hubert and Edelgard, the militia consisted almost entirely of civilians. Lonato had done the best he could to arm them, but they were still civilians devoted to their lord. They _loved_ Lonato, loved him enough to fight to the death with no military experience or training at all. And die they did, no match for her or her students at all. They had to fight to defend their lives, but they were able to win easily. In a way, it was even worse on their psyche than the bandits. That was the first time many of her pups shed blood, yes, but this was fighting a militia that wanted to rebel against the church—not bandits. They were definitely taking Rhea’s lesson to heart.

But what was more important was this:

Lord Lonato was defeated, his horse screaming in her death throes behind him, her belly split open and her shrieks filling the air until Ferdinand marched over and ended her suffering. He was bound and forced to his knees before Catherine, who approached in an implacable march, Fortinbras at her side. Lonato’s daemon, a tiny screech owl, pressed up against his bleeding face to feel him one last time. Byleth opened her mouth to ask for the mercy that Ashe had begged for, but…there was no point. Hubert was right. Lonato had been a dead man walking the moment judgement passed from Rhea’s lips.

“Lonato,” Catherine said, “I never thought you would meet your end like this. I can at least promise you that Ashe will not be judged for your crimes. Do you have any last words?”

Lonato looked up at her not in fear of death, but burning hatred. “Fuck you, Cassandra. You took Christophe from me, you killed my citizens, and now you’re going to steal my last son from me as well. I hope you burn in the eternal flames.”

“I hope you’re happy, Fortinbras,” his screech owl daemon added. “How does it feel, being a docile sheep, always following the herd without a single thought for yourself?”

It was difficult, even with a sharp blade, to behead somebody in a single stroke. But Thunderbrand was a Hero’s Relic. It cleaved through flesh and bone like they weren’t there at all.

But what was more important was this:

Edelgard spoke in a low voice, afraid of being overheard. It was not a good idea to loudly express her respect for Lonato after all, not when his headless body was cooling in the dirt just inches away. But she did respect him, and the civilian militia they killed.

“They died for a cause they truly believed in,” she explained. “It’s something I completely understand, and sympathize with. They deserve the proper respect for that, even if nothing else.”

And then Catherine interrupted them with news of an assassination plot against Archbishop Rhea.

But what was most important of all was this:

The march back to Garreg Mach was quiet for a different reason this time. Instead of her students dealing with their first kills, they were all dreading the moment Ashe found out his adoptive father—and so many of the townspeople that took him and his siblings in, treated them with such kindness—were dead. Killed at their hands. Yes, Byleth and her students had orders, they were following orders, but…

There was a choice. They could have disobeyed. There would have been consequences, yes. But they could have disobeyed.

The Blue Lions were waiting at the gate, all of them, in support of Ashe. She couldn’t see their faces yet, but she’d have recognized the enormous frames of Dedue and Levia anywhere. The smallest two figures pacing back and forth must have been Ashe and Fuergios.

The silhouettes stilled. The smallest human one—Ashe—raced forward, only to be stopped by Dedue, who grabbed Ashe and locked him in a full-body embrace. Ashe kicked and thrashed, and now they were close enough to speak.

“Ashe, don’t look!”

“No, dammit Dedue, let me go please I need to—!”

Dedue held Ashe tight, but he couldn’t do anything about Fuergios. She shifted from fennec fox to screech owl and flew towards the Eagles, stretching the limits of Ashe’s range from pure adrenaline and desperation alone, until she could see them and there was no more hiding just what happened on the Magdred Way.

Byleth never remembered a dream without Sothis. In fact, she was unsure if she ever had a dream, or a nightmare, that did not feature the mysterious ethereal girl in her head.

But if she did, then Ashe’s broken wail at the sight of Lonato’s severed head would haunt every last one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this was my longest chapter yet. Nearly 9000 words! I'm going to have to break up each month in two parts after this; no wonder it took so long to write.
> 
> So...yeah. Poor Ashe. 
> 
> Unfortunately this sort of thing happened in real life, a lot. Lonato could have very easily suffered a much more horrifying fate for rebelling against the church in a world where the church is so intertwined with the state (it’s hard to emphasize just. How. Much the church permeated every single aspect of medieval life), and Dimitri has to get his obsession about decapitating Edelgard (instead of killing her in some other way) from somewhere.
> 
> Edelgard and Lysithea know about each other, and it's only Garland Moon. A lot of things are starting to go differently from canon now. 
> 
> I'm going to be honest, that one single line from Rhea turned me against her forever. That pushed a LOT of personal buttons and made me absolutely disgusted with her. The nature of blind obedience vs forging your own path, making your own fate, all that good stuff will be explored in this fic. Along with all the other fun stuff in Fodlan! 
> 
> Anyway, please read and enjoy, let me know what you think, and all that good stuff. I can't wait for the next chapter! Don't worry; I know there's a lot of Blue Lions stuff now but we'll be seeing more of the Golden Deer at some point!
> 
> Humans and daemons introduced in this chapter:  
Catherine and Fortinbras (male sheep)


	7. Learned Helplessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The class of 1180 bands together to help a grieving student. Byleth confides in the Eagles. And the outsiders of Garreg Mach withstand several undeserved assaults from a panicking and xenophobic staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient, everyone. I am still in interview season (flying out to another interview tomorrow) so just a few more weeks and I will be back on my normal weekly-ish schedule! You've waited long enough, so here's the next chapter! 
> 
> Content Warning: People being racist asses towards Dedue (and similarly implied awfulness towards Petra), and a brief mention of past accidental self-harm. 
> 
> A huge, HUGE thank you to Lycheeloving for providing me with translations for Petra's Tagalog!
> 
> As always, please read and enjoy!

Lonato’s execution would have been the most talked-about event at the monastery, if not for the note that was found on his corpse. A plot to assassinate Archbishop Rhea, on one of the holiest days of the year. It was unthinkable. And yet, so was Lonato raising a rebellion.

All of this was to say that even though the monastery gates were open during the month as was tradition, security was tighter than ever. Every class had been pulled from their previously scheduled monthly missions, reassigned to defend the monastery and archbishop at all times. Seteth had taken to following Rhea around like her shadow with a gleaming axe in his hands and a tenseness to his jaw.

The Black Eagles had also been pulled onto monastery guard duty; since they were the ones to discover the note and the ones with Professor Byleth, they were working directly with one of the high-ranking Knights of Seiros, along with her apprentice of sorts. Shamir was just as stoic as Byleth and just as blunt as Felix, although her emotions appeared to be restrained rather than absent. Her only tell appeared to be when she reached up to stroke the back of Veradis, her fire salamander daemon. By contrast, her apprentice Cyril wore his emotions and devotion to Lady Rhea on his sleeve. Byleth had seen him around, running back and forth doing all sorts of errands—chopping firewood, cleaning classrooms, and so forth. Maybe he was a squire and they had to play the role of servant for part of their apprenticeship? Cyril wasn’t dressed as nicely as the other pages and squires though. Maybe it was because he was younger? He definitely was a few years younger than her students, a bit of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, a few spots of acne hidden under his mop of curly dark hair. And yet his daemon had already settled, a yellow-winged bat who liked to nestle in that messy hair.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this plot,” Edelgard said.

Ferdinand nodded. “Lonato and his militia stood no chance against us or the Knights. I don’t know why he decided to embark on such a suicidal mission, but why would he leave a note detailing future nefarious plots on his person for us to find afterwards?”

“Oh! Unless he _meant_ for us to find it!” Dorothea’s eyes lit up; Calphour danced up and down her shoulder. “A trick within a scheme, meant to distract us and keep us off our guard!”

“If this note is a ploy, then what are being their…what are their true motivations?”

Edelgard looked around. “I think we need to split up and gather information. Our enemy could be using the chaos of the assassination plot to sneak in somewhere else. Let’s not do anything rash, _Caspar._

Caspar lowered his hand. “That wasn’t what I was going to say?”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then, pray tell, what was it?”

Instead of rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, Caspar awkwardly cupped the base of his backpack for Peakane to swim down and bat against his palm. “Actually, I was gonna ask if I can go check on Ashe? I haven’t seen him at the training ground all week, not since…you know. I even went to ask Dedue but he’s barely seen him either, and not outside of class! And, I mean, they’re always cooking together. I mean, I’m just a bit worried.”

That comment immediately sucked the air out of the room, leaving nothing but a mournful silence, thick and heavy. Humans and daemons shuffled around awkwardly, not quite able to maintain eye contact.

Thanily’s expression softened. “You have our permission. It’s not like subtlety is one of your strong suits.”

“Aww, thanks!” He ran off before anybody could even finish their sentence.

Shamir nodded. “Cyril and I will do our own reconnaissance and report back once we have more substantial information.”

* * *

It was a bright, beautiful, hot and sunny summer day. Motes of dust danced in the sliver of light shining between both closed curtains. Ashe had not opened them in several days. He had barely moved from his bed in several days, only getting up to attend necessary classes and obey the biological demands of his body.

Caspar pounded on the door again, louder on this time. “Come on Ashe, open up! It’s me, Caspar! I know you’re in there!”

Peakane chimed in. “Ashe, everyone’s worried about you! Please open up!”

“Go away!”

The door rattled again, harder this time. “No, I won’t!”

“I said go away!”

“Ashe, you’re not Bernadetta, this isn’t like you! Please, your friends and classmates are worried about you; I’m worried about you!”

Silence. Then, the sound of bare feed padding closer, a hand fumbling on the handle, and the door creaked open.

Ashe looked _terrible._ His eyes, normally brimming with curiosity and optimism, were dull and hidden under limp hair. His face was red and blotchy, his clothes rumpled like they had been worn for several days. Fuergios was still on the bed, looking at him with bleary owl eyes. “What do you want?”

“I, uh, wow you look really terrible. I—I mean!” Caspar raised his hands, cringing at the words that tumbled forth. “Can I come in?”

Ashe blinked, sighed, gave in. “Yeah, sure, I guess.” He watched silently as Caspar cautiously entered.

Caspar flopped down on the bed and immediately wished he hadn’t. If Ashe hadn’t been going to class then he certainly hadn’t been bathing. Even _he_ could smell the week’s worth of unwashed teenage boy that had been marinating in the summer heat.

“Hey, Ashe, do you want to go to the sauna? It’s pretty warm now so it should be empty, we can chat and then get some tea or coffee or something after?”

“Thanks but not really.” His voice was flat, with none of the curiosity, optimism, or joy that made up Ashe. “I think I just want to stay here.” And Fuergios wasn’t talking either. Come to think of it, wasn’t Lonato’s daemon a screech owl too?

“Oh jeez, please don’t tell me she settled like that,” Peakane whispered to Caspar.

The four of them sat in silence on that stinking bed for some time. Caspar and Ashe stared at some spot in the center of the room seemingly identical to every other spot on the floor; Fuergios and Peakane’s gazes slid past each other.

Caspar broke the fragile silence first. “It wasn’t me who did it,” he blurted out, as if that would make everything magically better, as if he hadn’t carved and pummeled his way through barely-armed militia. “It was Th—Catherine.”

He didn’t really want to call her by her title. Thunder Catherine seemed much less glamorous now, through the screams and the fog and the burning hatred in Lonato’s eyes, the love in his subjects’, the grief in Ashe’s.

“Her name used to be Cassandra.”

That was new. Caspar hadn’t heard of anything like that; though, to be fair, in his mind Catherine sprang onto the scene fully-formed with Thunderbrand in hand and Fortinbras by her side. “Buh?”

“Her name used to be Cassandra. She…after Duscur, Christophe—my adoptive brother, Lonato’s trueborn son—was arrested for treason. Cassandra, Catherine, whatever, she turned him over to the Church for execution. Lonato was never really the same after that.” He held Fuergios to his chest. “Still, I didn’t think he’d ever do anything like…” He broke off again in a shaking sigh.

Wait, what? Catherine had been named something else? And she….she had executed Lonato’s son, who was Ashe’s brother? “…Holy shit. Just…Holy shit. Ashe, I…”

_And why did the Church execute Christophe?_ Peakane wondered, the thought prodding into Caspar’s mind through their bond._ Wasn’t Duscur a Kingdom thing?_

“Save it,” Ashe muttered, turning towards the wall. He hadn’t looked at Caspar once since sitting down.

But Fuergios kept talking through Ashe’s silence, her voice growing more bitter and biting with every word. “That’s just the way it goes, isn’t it? Apostates will suffer the punishment of the goddess and all that? Fath—Lonato wanted vengeance for Christophe’s death, so he tried to rebel. And because of that he was executed. And he…he wasn’t even buried. There was no funeral, no consecration. He was left to rot, and his daemon will be left to wander…”

She broke off, the silence heavy in the air again as Ashe was beyond words. The only think that tore from his throat was a low keening noise, a hoarse, “Just…go.”

A small part of Caspar was all to eager to flee this place of despair, to no longer hear an Ashe making sounds that such a cheerful person should never make, and the rest of him hated himself for thinking that. This was Ashe and Fuergios; he’d only known the other boy for a few months and they had already become fast friends! And to see Ashe like this…

Peakane swam to the edge of her backpack, pressed a fin against the clear material. But instead of turning into a dog and pressing her nose to her fin in return, Fuergios became a small cat and nestled deeper into Ashe’s arms.

“Right. I, um, I’m just gonna…go.” Caspar stood and awkwardly made his way to the door. He could feel Ashe’s gaze flick up to him, but the teenager made no motion to stand. Or call him back. Or anything. “I’m gonna check back in on you later, okay?”

Ashe made no motion to move, or speak, not even when Caspar opened up the door to let the light back in. Only when he heard the lock click did he lean against the door and dig his fingers into his choppy blue hair.

“Holy shit Caspar, this is bad, this is really bad, this is a lot worse than we thought,” Peakane said from behind him. Caspar unhooked his backpack, held it in his hands so he could stare at her, with her beautiful orange and white bars while he walked blindly down the dormitory path. “I’ve never seen Ashe like this, what do we do?”

“I…I don’t know.” And it terrified him, that he didn’t know. He’d always been one to rush through life fists-first, dispensing justice right then and there. But this? What justice was there, in killing townspeople? In this whole mess? Christophe had apparently been involved in the Tragedy of Duscur or something, so the Church had executed him—

“And why was the Church involved in the first place? Wasn’t the Tragedy of Duscur a Kingdom thing?”

—Peakane was right about that, it was weird. But, back on topic, the Church had executed Christophe so Lonato fought against the church in revenge. And honestly, Caspar couldn’t really blame him. If the Church did something to his brothers, or Lin, he’d want justice for them too. So Lonato wanted to hurt the church because the church hurt him and maybe fighting wasn’t the best way to go about it after all. Because now Lonato was dead, and _Ashe_ was hurting, but it’s what he would have done too.

“Aagh!” Caspar gripped the sides of Peakane’s backpack and shook it. “I don’t know what to think here! I don’t see any justice here, just a whole lot of hurt people hurting people and now Ashe is hurting too!”

Peakane righted herself, but was still swimming in circles as she vocalized her thoughts. “I want to ask someone for help with this but I don’t know who to ask, or even what to ask! And I kind of want someone to tell us what to think but at the same time I really really don’t.”

“And we can’t leave Ashe like this either. We need to do someth—oof!” Caspar stumbled back, rubbing his smarting head from where it had bumped into a wooden pillar, bracing against a wooden door. He turned around to see _Mercedes von Martritz_ written on the door in a flowery script. There were a couple of felt flowers tacked neck to the name, either the work of her or Annie.

“Mercedes!” Caspar thumped his fists on the door with increasing speed until he was drumming them both in rapid succession. “Mercedes, open up; we’ve got a big problem!”

* * *

Mercedes was not in her room, or the dining hall, or even the classrooms. She was at the training grounds with Annette, as they both practiced flinging spells at dummy targets.

Which now, apparently, included Caspar, who talked in between ducks and dodges and the more than occasional head-on hit. Or rather, it was their daemons talking

“Oh my,” Cygnis said as Mercedes chanted another incantation. “Thank you for checking in on Ashe. I was worried he was hiding the true extent of his grief from us.”

“Why would he hide it? And he wasn’t doing a good job of it; I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ashe that bad,” Peakane grunted as Caspar sprung up from a sidewards roll. The grit from the training grounds dug into his shoulder but it was better than the spells.

Serrin danced around Annette’s feet as she launched another spell at Caspar. She was careful to pull her punches but even her attenuated fireballs were still enough to singe his skin and clothes if he let them hit. Which it did, as he doubled over with a grunt. “Cyg, I really think we need to do an intervention. We’ve got to tell Dimitri about this. Maybe even Professor Hanneman.”

Cygnis shook his head, trotting after Mercedes as she went to check on the groaning Caspar.. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Serrin. You’ve seen how Ashe feels he needs to be subservient to Dimitri. I don’t think he would be able to handle Dimitri’s attempts at comfort.”

“Not to mention he’s…not the best at it,” Mercedes added, though her eyes were still focused on Caspar’s singed torso. The skin under his shirt was red and angry-looking, but not badly burned. A whispered prater, a glow of white light, and the burn faded from his skin as it returned to its normal pinkness. “Are you okay, Caspar? Annie and I toned down our spells but you’re not the most resilient when it comes to enduring magical attacks.”

“Nrgh, yeah, I’m fine.” He jumped to his feet, shaking himself off as the water in Peakane’s backpack sloshed back and forth. “I dunno Dimitri that well but I am also worried about what Ashe said about Lonato’s daemon getting lost or something? I’m not a religious guy but that’s got to do with the way we sort of, you know, left him there without a real consecration or anything, right?”

“Essentially, yes,” Mercedes said. Cygnis whimpered next to her, his tail drooping. Caspar swallowed at the sudden sick feeling in his gut, at what they might have done to Lonato, and to Ashe in turn. “Although it is a somewhat traditional attitude, and there is quite a bit of discourse and debate over what sort of funerary rites and blessings are needed to help a human and daemon pass on to the goddess’s embrace.”

Annette dropped her hands mid-cast and slowly turned to Mercedes, eyes sparking with an idea. “Hang on, Mercie, aren’t you a priest? And my territory is close to Gaspar lands…”

It took a moment, but then Mercedes’ eyes widened in understanding. She smiled as she brought a hand to her mouth. “Annie, that is a wonderful idea. I’m sorry Caspar, but we have to cut this practice short. Thank you so much for bringing this to our attention!”

“Uh, okay?” He stood there awkwardly in the middle of the training ground, shirt singed and grit digging into his cheek, as Annette and Mercedes left. “I’ll just, uh, pack up? You’re welcome?”

* * *

The entire monastery was up in arms and panicked over the threat to the archbishop. Everywhere Bernie went there was a pair of guards on duty, and the knights had made sure that at least one of those pairs had a big scary daemon with sharp horns or teeth. Professor Byleth and the three house heads were running themselves ragged trying to find information and scout out potential weak points in monastery security; Professor Byleth and Edelgard had both concluded that the assassination attempt was likely a fakeout for something else, which is why they asked everyone in the house to help gather information. Even poor old Bernie got volunteered, though at least they let her pick where she would scout, and let her deliver her information in private.

“Told you offering to inspect our room wasn’t going to work,” Mal teased from inside Bernie’s pocket.

“Mal, you’re a jerk,” she whispered. At least the greenhouse was nice and quiet, even if Dedue was still there, his enormous hulking frame bent over some…oddly pretty white flowers? They were the same color as his hair, a little more silvery than Edelgard’s, and he always spent a lot of time tending to those flowers in particular. Once she had actually seen him carefully open up a window so that Levia could poke her head in to see them directly. She wasn’t sure how he had managed to do it so carefully with his enormous fingers, much less replace it without the greenhouse manager yelling at him.

Actually…the way she was stalking forward…did she notice?! Bernadetta let out a little yelp and ducked behind some large ferns, praying that her violet hair would blend in among the occasional flowers, praying that the greenhouse manager was going after Dedue and not turn her ire on poor old Bernie instead. This was one of her safe spaces! She couldn’t get kicked out of here, what would happen to the pitcher plants and Venus flytraps she had so carefully raised her babies would starve and drown without her and then she wouldn’t be able to sing anywhere else wouldn’t find a place to breathe and—

“—Yow! Mal!” she yelped, immediately drawing her voice down to a harsh whisper. Mal had nipped her thumb again.

“Shhh, Bernie, listen.” There was a worried, hard edge to his voice that was rather new. “Do you hear what the greenhouse manage is saying?”

Saying wasn’t quite the right term. Lecturing was more like it. Or maybe dressing-down. Whatever it was, the greenhouse manager was up in Dedue’s space, thrusting her finger at his face in a way that would have had Bernie run sobbing to her room had it been her. But Dedue just stood there and…took it, his shoulders square, his face set and yet almost resigned to his fate. Bernie sidled a little closer until she could make out what she was saying to the large Duscurian man.

“Listen here, boy,” the greenhouse manager spat, even though Dedue was over a foot taller than her. “You’re only here because His Royal Highness made you his little pet project. I don’t know what he was thinking but you’re probably just as shifty as the rest of your kind. Looking to add another assassination to your nation’s crimes?”

She continued like that for some time, all but accusing Dedue of being a part of the assassination plot simply because he was Duscurian, her frog daemon implying that Levia was no more than a dumb beast, and all the while Dedue and Levia just stood there and…took it. Not a single retort from Dedue, not a single snort or shout from Levia’s even larger frame silhouetted in the greenhouse walls.

And Bernadetta just…watched it happen as she cowered behind some ferns.

Mal’s frantic thoughts echoed across their bond. _Do something! Stop her! Dedue is scary but he doesn’t deserve this!_

_I-I can’t! What if she kicks me out! And I, I can’t do it Mal!_

“We need to do _something!”_ he whispered.

Bernadetta whimpered in response, her breaths coming faster and faster to the state of near-hyperventilation. She shifted again and again, moving to stand up before her fear took over again and she just as quickly crouched back down. Stupid, useless, pathetic Bernie! Here was Dedue in trouble getting all sorts of awful things thrown at him when he was just _gardening_ and she was too much of a pathetic fucking coward to do anything about it or even _help_ him!

By the time Bernadetta looked backup the manager was gone, leaving Dedue alone next to those little white flowers. He waited until she was gone, the greenhouse door slamming behind her, before kneeling down and resuming his digging. It was much more violent this time; Dedue slammed the trowel into the ground with a loud _chok_ as little flecks of earth flew everywhere.

She wanted to flee in shame, at her inability to help. But even Levia had lowered her head; he was hurting. And so, at Mal’s urging, Bernie sighed, stood, brushed off her knees, and cautiously approached Dedue for the first time in months. “I, uh, Dedue, I’m really sorry pleasedonthateme!”

Dedue didn’t jump up, but his shoulders did tense, his enormous hand tightened over the comically-small trowel. When he turned to her his face was carefully neutral but there was no hiding the thickness in his voice. “Bernadetta. I am sorry you had to see that.”

“Eeeeeepleasedontkill—wait, what?” She lowered her hands to see Dedue looking at her, that same frighteningly stern look on his face. The apologies spilled out of her mouth again, becoming higher and frantic and more of a wail with every passing word. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry! I saw that and I should have stepped in and done something but I was too much of a stupid useless coward and just let her say the most horrible things to you and you don’t deserve that and I should have said something I’m sorry!!!” Mal tugged at her hair but to no effect as she sobbed out apologies that did nothing to quell the hatred she felt for doing nothing to help Deude in the moment when he actually needed it.

“Bernadetta.” That was Levia, Bernie realized after a moment. She had never heard the cape buffalo daemon speak. Her voice was deep and soothing, like a wise mentor who had lived countless ages and seen countless things. It was not a voice of authority like Edelgard or Avarine’s voices were, but there was a gravitas to it that made her pay attention. “This is the first time we have spoken, yes? Then you do not know me. For all you know, she could have been right.”

“N-no, she wasn’t! She shouldn’t have disrespected you like that, and you both deserve better than that! And I’m sorry that she said that!” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself, indignation at seeing someone else treated so terrible _the way she had been treated, sure he wasn’t tied to a chair and what little she knew about the slaughter of Duscur was beyond anything she had endured, but she knew what it was like to be treated as an object, like less than nothing _overpowering her terror at speaking to someone, especially someone as big and scary as Dedue.

Dedue’s stern gaze softened at that, just a little bit at the creases of his eyes. “Thank you. It is…nice, to hear that you think such a thing.”

“Do…do you want me to tell Professor Byleth?” Her professor was incredibly understanding and fair and helpful. Even if Dedue wasn’t in her class she’d probably be furious, well as furious as she was capable of being, to hear somebody saying awful things like that about him; maybe she’d stop the manager from treating Dedue like that. And even if she didn’t, she’d tell Dimitri, and _he_ would. He and Dedue were really close, after all.

But Dedue shook his head. Bernie dared to look in his eyes, tried and failed to keep the fear from welling up within her as her head craned up and up and _up_ to look at his, but there was no evidence of his true feelings there. Just his same sort of scary sternness, not Professor Byleth’s blankness but a wall of stoicism and mild intimidation.

She’d been staring at him, frozen, for several minutes until Levia broke the spell. “Thank you Bernadetta, but we will be fine.”

“Oh! Um, um, okay then.” Bernadetta instantly cringed back in on herself. “I’ll just, uh, be goingnowbye!” The last words were a tumble as she sprinted out of the greenhouse, only slowing down when her shoes tracked against the grass of the path to the dorms instead of clacking on the cobblestones outside the greenhouse.

Malecki pressed his nose against Bernie’s wrist. His whole body was quivering in her palms; whether from excitement or adrenaline she couldn’t quite tell. Her hands were shaking too. “Bernie, we did it! We actually talked to Dedue! No, you did it!”

“We…wow Mal, I, haha, I talked to Dedue I can’t believe it I talked to Dedue, haha…” Her laugh became something high and nervous as the adrenaline and weight of the past few minutes slammed down on her all at once. The world spun around her, tilted under her feet as she could hear her heart hammering a rapid pace all the way up in her ears. She talked to Dedue, that enormous stoic mountain of a man and here she was, still alive and still breathing even after he had every right to be furious at her for—

“I should have stopped her from bothering him, I shouldn’t have let her say those awful things,” Bernadetta whimpered. “Stupid worthless Bernie, can’t help someone right in front of me, I—”

“—Bernie, don’t say things like that,” Mal implored, placing his little paws around her thumb. “We, yes, okay we should have helped, but we talked to him. That’s more than before! And next time we’ll do better, right?”

“…Why does there have to be a next time?” But there was going to be a next time. Of course there would be a next time. She was so tired all of a sudden. Now that the adrenaline had washed over her and her hammering heart slowed, the terrified certainty that she was about die squeezed away, she felt drained. Scooped out. “That, haa, that was a lot, Mal.” He nodded; she could feel the weariness in him too, all the energy used up in pulling them both together holding them through that conversation with Dedue because she was too pathetic to just do it like a normal person would. “Tomorrow’s got to be just an inside day.”

Malecki nodded, too drained to speak above a low murmur. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Inside day sounds good.”

Of course, Hubert von Vestra picked that exact moment to approach her, his voice low and menacing, promising a slow and painful demise.

_Oh nonononono! Please nodontkillme help me gonna die gonna die I’mgonnadie!_

Her mind went blank, blind panic slammed down over her, and the last thing she remembered was the icy grin of death itself making its implacable approach.

* * *

Hubert nudged the limp body slumped before him. “Oh dear. I may have taken this too far.”

Thanily sniffed Malecki; the hedgehog daemon had rolled out of her hands into a loose limp comma inches away from her fingertips. “Gee, you think?”

Bernadetta was still breathing; her breath was slow and even as it ghosted warm on his gloved fingertips. She had simply passed out from fright. Hubert remained in his crouched position as he looked her over, checking for obvious injuries and finding none. He was frightening; he knew that. Reveled in it, actually. Carefully crafted that aura of menace and murderous intent, the better to intimidate people into following Lady Edelgard’s will. Bernadetta, terrified of the world, was petrified of him. But she had never actually passed out from fright due to him.

Normally he would be filled with satisfaction at a job well done. But instead, for some reason, he felt just a little bit…hollow. Sad? The feeling made no sense, but it wouldn’t go away, not even when he turned to level a glare at the likely source of it, the half of him that was more likely to openly express emotion.

Thani didn’t even pretend to look embarrassed. Instead she stared him down, maintaining eye contact as she batted a paw over the unconscious Malecki. “Well? Are we just going to leave her here?”

Bernadetta was still unconscious. Was she just asleep now? She did look exhausted before he snuck up on her. Everyone in the Eagles, no the entire monastery was exhausted to some extent or another. That damnable archbishop and her lackeys had run them all ragged, forcing teenagers onto security detail while at the same time cutting all unessential classes from their schedules. Not to mention Professor Byleth had, with Lady Edelgard’s prompting, realized that the archbishop was not the true target, so the entire house was doing reconnaissance alongside security and classes. Hubert’s coffee intake had doubled over the past few weeks, Ferdinand had taken to steeping his black tea to the very edge of acceptable palatability just for the extra caffeine, and stores of both were running low in the pantry.

Hubert sighed and scooped her up in his arms, staggering back as he lifted her form; she was as light as she looked but he wasn’t particularly strong. One arm dangled and he leaned back to try and tuck it back over her stomach, positioning his hands so as not to accidentally touch anywhere, ah, improper, so to speak. Thanily bent down and picked up Malecki, trotting along beside him as she carried the hedgehog in her mouth, lips curled back so as not to pierce herself on his spines.

The walk back to Bernadetta’s room was slow and cautious; Hubert carefully picked his way around the cobblestones so as not to trip and give them both a concussion. Thani had a much easier time of things, to the point where she even tried speaking around the hedgehog daemon in her mouth. “Cah oo ihwa—” Thani stopped, wincing as those spines poked her tongue. She gently deposited Malecki, still unconscious, onto her paws before trying again. “Can you imagine if it was Ferdinand and Embrienne instead?”

The sheer absurdity of that mental image made Hubert stop dead in his tracks and laugh, full-bodied and just as ominous as the rest of him. He and Thanily could both clearly see it, Ferdinand nobly carrying Bernadetta like in the gaudiest and schlockiest of tapestries…while also trying to carry Malecki without touching him. A trowel would likely be involved, or perhaps a paper bag, neither of which would fit well in Ferdinand’s oh-so-noble presentation.

“Yes Thani, yes I can. And it is glorious.”

They continued to Bernadetta’s room, Hubert’s shoulders shaking in mirth much of the way. Her door was surprisingly unlocked, and was silent as it opened. It was dusk; the furniture in her room cast long shadows that obscured corners. But Hubert von Vestra was a man of the shadows, and Thanily’s yellow eyes gleamed as she quickly adjusted to the dark.

Bernadetta’s room was cluttered—sheets of paper were scattered on the desk, with a half-finished embroidery piece partially covering them, and several textbooks were stacked up by the foot of the bed—but clean. For all that she frequently ate in her room there was barely a crumb. Her bed was made, the blankets smooth, and the smuggled dishes were rinsed and neatly stacked on the adjacent nightstand. Even the chair was clean and wiped down, free of dust.

Hubert carefully laid Bernadetta down on the bed; Thani jumped up onto the bed to place Malecki on the pillow next to her. “I was expecting more of a hovel, or a rat’s nest,” she said. “But this place is surprisingly clean. Especially given how Bernadetta does not seem to give much regard to personal grooming beyond regular basic hygiene. Which, at least, she is meticulous about.”

“Hm. That is an interesting observation,” Hubert mused, distantly. Like he wasn’t paying much attention. Because he wasn’t paying much attention.

What he was paying attention to were the corners of dusty letters peeking out from under Bernadetta’s bed. And several faint, jagged, irregularly lined scars marring her right hand and forearm.

“I think,” Hubert said, a dangerous note creeping into his already-sinister tone of voice as Thanily’s eyes narrowed, her lips curled in a snarl, “We need to do some digging regarding a certain Minister von Varley.”

* * *

Delcabia and Belial’s sheer size made it difficult for the six humans and their daemons to squeeze into Byleth’s room and impossible for Dedue to attend at all (though he had been under close watch from the monks anyway; Dimitri was seething from the naked injustice of it all but couldn’t do anything about it at the moment), but they managed. Even if it meant that Dimitri spent the entire conversation practically sitting on Delcabia, Avarine was precariously perched on the bulletin board, and Claude, Hilda, and Hubert were squeezed up against each other atop the low bookcase next to the window. Rain lashed at the windows; the rumble and crash of thunder interrupted them every few minutes.

In other words, nobody wanted to be outside, and nobody would be listening in. Which was good, because what they were doing was mildly heretical. Nothing too serious, especially since Byleth held Archbishop Rhea’s favor for some reason, but shady enough that they didn’t want anybody asking uncomfortable questions.

“Annette and Mercedes should be back within the next few days,” Dimitri said as Delcabia snorted and flicked her gaze back and forth between the window and door. He was the most uncomfortable with this whole plan, the one who adhered most to the rules and laws of the goddess and society, the crown prince of the _Holy_ Kingdom of Faerghus, after all. But Ashe had barely shown up to class in the past three weeks, and Fuergios looked like she was slowly wasting away. Something had to be done.

In contrast, Claude and Hilda looked positively giddy to be causing some mischief, and Hubert and Edelgard looked…eager. Like hyenas circling a kill. They were _enjoying_ this, and if they were trying to hide it then they were failing miserably.

“Marianne was surprisingly okay with the idea,” Hilda yawned, stretching wide enough that Simurg had to slither to Claude’s other arm with a protesting hiss. “Though I did have to take over her weeding duties for the rest of the month—you owe me for that, by the way.”

“Ignatz wasn’t terribly difficult to convince either,” Halmstadt added from atop Hilda’s head, his iridescent blue scales a garish yet somehow fitting contrast with her bubblegum-pink hair. “I just needed to reframe it in terms of the goddess, and Mist did the rest of the work.”

“Not to mention Iggy’s never worked with wood before,” Claude chimed in. “It’s not often you get to indulge in a hobby _and_ get a challenge at the same time.” He deliberately ignored Hilda’s comments about the weeds.

Everyone else in the room, except for Byleth, nodded in agreement.

Hubert forsook all niceties and simply gave his status report. “Our _performance_ in the last battle has attracted the Archbishop’s attention, not to mention the presence of our esteemed professor herself. As such, our assistance will be limited at best.”

“I can cover for you though, at least to some extent,” Byleth chimed in.

“Of course,” Claude muttered. “Will Petra still be able to help?” 

“I believe so.”

“Then we’re still good.” Claude leaned back into his easy smile, kicked his legs up against Byleth’s bedpost. He refused to put his feet down, even at Belial’s annoyed growl.

Simurg lifted her head off Claude’s bicep to observe the room. Three lords, two retainers, one Teach, and all their daemons, wedged into a tiny bedroom plotting mild heresy (or sacrilege, whatever, she was never one for religion) for the sake of one grief-stricken classmate. “You know, when the Church talked about diplomacy and forging bonds between the nations, I don’t think this is what they had in mind.”

That drew laughter from the students, though it ranged wildly from Hubert’s appreciative chuckle to Dimitri’s nervous laugh, echoed in their daemons.

The rain slowly died down to a steady downpour instead of the earlier deluge as the thunder faded away. The downpour then faded to a gentle consistent patter, and Dimitri was the first to leave. He bowed politely as he left, as did Delcabia—although the bristly hog was still lashing her tail, and stared at Avarine with an unidentifiable emotion. Dedue was already waiting outside, uncaring of the warm rain that soaked him and Levia through. Claude and Hilda left next, Halmstadt taking cover inside an elaborately decorated capsule around Hilda’s neck.

Claude left with one of his signature easy smiles and waves. “See you around, Teach. This was fun!”

Edelgard and Hubert stood to leave next when a bare hand on her clothed wrist stopped her. “Edelgard, wait.”

Rhea’s words still circled in Byleth’s head.

_“This mission should prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to ever turn their blades on the church.”_

She needed to tell Edelgard, whose cool disdain for the church was beginning to be noticed even by her. Needed to warn her.

So she did.

Both Edelgard and Hubert seemed unfazed by the news. Unsurprised. Almost…like they were expecting her to say something like that. But Edelgard’s nostrils flared, and Hubert’s fingers tightened on his arms. Less subtly, Avarine leaned forward and flash her wings with a screech, and Thanily’s fur bristled straight up as she snarled.

“Of course she would say something like that,” Edelgard said, her voice clipped. “That’s what the Church is, that’s what the Church does. I would say that’s what Rhea does, but it seems like they are much the same more often than not. This is a training ground, not just in tactics and diplomacy but in teaching us to be good obedient little soldiers, always ready to jump at the Church’s beck and call. And more importantly, teaching us to live in fear of the Church and what it could do. They train us well. When you teach someone they can’t escape when they’re too small to succeed, they’ll never try. Even when they’re older, stronger, and able to do so.”

“But if you think about it, Rhea was quite foolish to say this to Byleth,” Hubert added. “Learned helplessness depends on the subject not even considering escape, believing it is pointless to even try. But now that we know her aim, we can see the façade for what it is.”

“Byleth, don’t tell anybody we’re talking about this. Openly questioning the archbishop? Well, we’ve seen all too well where it leads.” Edelgard was serious.

Unbeknownst to them, people were listening. Or, rather, Ardior and Calphour were. The little goldcrest daemon perched atop Ardior’s head, his entire body smaller than the snow goose daemon’s skull. They hadn’t moved from the corner window for the past several minutes.

It really had been an accident. Petra had been giving Dorothea some pointers in the wicked-fast swordsmanship of Brigid when they had been caught by the sudden summer thunderstorm. They had heard the low conversation in Byleth’s room while racing back to theirs. And now here they were, Ardior and Calphour listening in while Dorothea and Petra hid in a nearby nook at the very edge of their range, the sweat from the psychic strain of distance washed off in the downpour.

“So it really is official church doctrine,” Calphour murmured to himself. And Edelgard openly questioned this? Openly spat her contempt for it? The Adrestian princess was…wow. His heart surged with respect for her. Screw those greedy narcissistic nobles. This was a future ruler worth following.

Ardior looked up at the little daemon on his head, though he couldn’t catch more than a flash of wing. He was so light, and it felt surprisingly comfortable to have Cal perched atop him. “What exactly are you meaning by that?”

“Remember when Thea made that sarcastic comment about sending us into live combat as part of official church doctrine?” He was shaking, but it wasn’t just from the rain.

The rain flattened Ardior’s feathers too, but not his voice. That was flat from something else entirely. “Ah. I believe I have understanding.”

Calphour watched Edelgard and Hubert leave, watched Byleth pull up a chair and get back to grading papers. Belial yawned and curled up on the bed. “I think we need to talk to Edelgard. Sooner, rather than later.”

* * *

Several days later, Petra sat cross-legged in the ungodly mess that was Claude’s room, making it that much messier as she whittled away at a hollowed-out piece of wood. Ardior and Simurg stood (or laid, in Simurg’s case) on several blueprints. The pieces of wood had to fit together perfectly, had to be sanded down to prevent friction. Claude was more familiar with metal, leather, and stone when making these sorts of things, but Petra was surprisingly good at the craft.

Quite aggressive though, as she dug the small knife into the wood, flinging off pieces of it with great force. Almost as if she was channeling some frustration into the carving. Which, actually, she was.

“Hey Petra, something eating you?”

Was this another weird Fodlanese idiom? “I am not being eaten. Claude, what are you…what do you mean by that phrase?”

“Oh, sorry.” Claude leaned back, casualness exuding from every inch of him. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Is something bothering you?”

Actually, something was. Claude was always questioning, probing. Simurg was a good fit for him, even if the snake daemon did make people look twice at the roguish young man. But snakes always looked for the best spots to hide and hunt. And that was what Claude always did. And yet his charm compelled her to speak. Edelgard would have also listened, especially given what she said to Byleth a few days ago, but she wasn’t here right now. And by the time they would have seen each other again, Petra would have already pushed her concerns down beneath her duty and need to make allies.

“It is…The monastery is looking for enemies in every corner, and I have understanding as to why, but they are looking in our corners as well. I do not know what they are wanting from me! The priests and monks say that I am a suspicious person for this plot because I am not being…I am not from Fodlan, but when I am going to the cathedral to keep Rhea safe and show that I am being…I am trustworthy, they are saying that because I am not following the Fodlan goddess I should not be there!”

Her frustrations spilled over, the wave quickly receding but the foundations still weakened in their wake. Petra’s carving became even more violent, her knuckles white as they gripped the blade, and Ardior shouted every frustration. “Bakit ba parang lagi nalang walang tiwala yung mga taga-Fodlan sa atin? Wala na ngang tiwala, ang yayabang pa!”

Claude paused from his inspection of the blueprints, one eyebrow raised at Ardior’s tirade in his native tongue. “Okay, I have no idea what you just said but I think I understand the sentiment. This place can be a real racist shithole sometimes, can’t it.”

“Claude, you should not be saying such things out loud!” Not even in his room. Who could be listening outside?

“Oh, my apologies.”

A pause. Then Simurg spoke. “This place can be a real racist shithole sometimes.”

She should have seen that coming, Petra thought as she rolled her eyes. But when they returned to Claude she looked at him—really looked at him. The smile that never reached his eyes. His black hair with its loose curls. His bark-brown skin, darker than hers but lighter than Dedue’s. The slight accent, different from anyone else she had ever spoken to in the Golden Deer. His casual talk of outsiders. The strange urn—an incense burner?—in the corner of his room whose likeness she had never seen in the cathedral, whose pattern she had never noticed on the architecture of this monastery.

“Hindi ka rin taga-Fodlan, no?” Ardior whispered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” Petra returned to her carving; the final image was starting to take shape. “The people in my class are being very…are very kind and accepting, but this has been the exception in my time here. It is as if the people of Fodlan are being raised to look at those outside its walls as predators. Or sometimes prey.”

Now Claude wasn’t meeting her eyes at all. And yet Simurg slithered off his arm to curl around Ardior’s webbed feet. “Have you ever read the holy texts of the Church of Seiros? Really read them, I mean, not just skimmed them during services but parsed the text and actually thought about its implications? Because if you haven’t, I would highly suggest doing so.” He laughed, hollow and bitter. “It’s quite, shall we say, _enlightening._”

It didn’t sound like that was the term Claude wanted to use at first, but Petra understood. “At the next Saints’ Day I will. If they will be allowing…if they allow me entrance into the cathedral.”

“Hopefully all this will have blown over by then.” Claude looked back up at Petra, and that rakish smile was plastered on his face once more for the world to see. “I took a look at the class registrar in the library; they have the records of previous classes as well. Did you know that our class is probably the most diverse one that Garreg Mach has had in years, both in terms of nationality and social status?”

Petra furrowed her brow as she thought rapidly. In terms of nationality, only she and Dedue, and likely Claude himself she just realized, were not from Fodlan. In terms of not being noble, Dorothea was a commoner who clawed her way here on her own terms. Ashe was a commoner, but his circumstances were…unique. In the Golden Deer, Ignatz must have come from a well-off family to afford glasses, Raphael sold his fortune, and from what she heard Leonie’s entire village had set up a collection just to send her to the monastery and she was drowning in debt. “Our class is diverse?”

“Yeah.” That hollow laugh was back. “Really says a lot, doesn’t it?”

A hiss from Simurg as she looked up from where she was loosely curled around Ardior. The snow goose daemon had sat on the ground, her white feathers fluffing out around her. “But this is still the most diverse class Garreg Mach has had in years, which means this is our greatest chance to get those stuffy nobles to see some different perspectives firsthand. We’re all going to be leading our nations some day. So maybe, if we can get our classmates to think differently, see different perspectives, then when we all end up leading our nations things will be better. We can start breaking down those walls. Fodlan won’t be a hermit continent anymore. I mean, look at us now, all working together for the sake of one student.”

It was a lovely dream, and one Petra found herself working towards as well, in her own way. “I would be hoping that greatly.”

* * *

“What do you want?”

There was a bit of emotion in Ashe’s voice. And he had opened the door. So that was good. Fuergios was still that tiny owl though, more disheveled than she had been the prior week. And the room still smelled, really bad.

“I wanted to give you something,” replied Caspar. “Actually,” he motioned to the collection of students (even Marianne was there) from all three houses crowding the doorway, “We all did.”

Dimitri stepped forward; he cradled a package in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m not the best at this sort of thing. And I know it won’t bring Lonato back. But...maybe this can provide some solace.”

A confused Ashe took the package. Caspar found himself leaning forward, Peakane swimming up to the top of her backpack to take a closer look. His conversation with Annie and Mercie may have sparked all this, but he hadn’t had a chance to see the final product. The sound of tearing paper punctuated his thoughts, their abrupt cessation a full stop.

Ashe’s hands trembled as he stared at the gift. It was a smallish box, about the diameter of a notebook, made from many interlocking slats of wood. The box was apparently sealed, but one side—the lid, presumably—was adorned.

A carefully whittled screech owl, painted and glazed with such care as to be almost lifelike at first glance, rose up from the lid to stare back at the boy.

“It’s a puzzle box,” Claude explained as he ran his fingers over the box. They probed and pressed and occasionally twisted the smooth wood in a deliberate, preordained pattern. “I love these things, spent way too much time learning to make them as a kid. It looks like a sealed box, but when you move the pieces just so...”

Right on cue, the lid unfolded. Inside, nestled in fabric and stoppered with cork, was a small clay jar. Ashe popped it open and...

...Held it. And held it. 

“Magdred Way also leads to Dominic lands,” Annette said in a low voice. “It wasn’t too hard to find the battlefield. And Mercie and I both know fire magic, so...

“Everything in there is Lonato,” Mercedes whispered, her feathery voice even softer than usual. “We made sure of that. “ 

Ashe was trembling, but he still clutched the urn like it was the most precious thing in the world. Which, to him, it probably was. 

Mercedes continued, every word a balm. “Since Lonato never had an official Church funeral, a proper funeral would require two people familiar with the rites. Marianne also knows them all.”

“Penumbrior has a beautiful singing voice,” Cygnis added over the armadillo daemon’s rapid-fire denials. 

“Lonato and his daemon won’t be lost. And he got a proper funeral.” 

Ashe was still silent, still clutched the urn and the wood box it rested in. But Fuergios shifted to a crow on his shoulder, her eyes bright on a way Caspar hadn’t seen in weeks, and the brawler found himself wiping away some very unmanly tears. 

Caspar would always run fists-first through life. That’s just the kind of man he was. But maybe there was something to diplomacy and talking and patience after all. 

Ashe joined him for sparring practice the next day. And although there was still a deep sadness in his eyes, it wasn’t the wild grief of before. And he had bathed, and combed his hair. So although there was a glint in his eyes that made Caspar for some reason reluctant to talk about the church or even Thun...Catherine in a way that was entirely different from before, it took him a while to notice what was significantly different. 

Fuergios was a snake. Fuergios was  _ never _ a snake. She preferred the forms of dogs, of hooved herd animals that banded together to fend off predators. The stereotypical daemon forms of chivalry, the daemons of the most brave and loyal knights. Even Uncle Randolph’s daemon was an Aegir Hound. 

But Fuergios was a snake. And although Caspar did not yet know it, although she had not yet settled, she would never take those traditional knightly forms again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This was a fun one to write, even if it took way too long. 
> 
> Bernie's injuries will be explained in a side story. God I have so many of them this fic is metastasizing. Expect to see lots of little side stories popping up at some point!
> 
> Again, a HUGE thank you to Lycheeloving for providing me with translations! Yes, Petra is Filipino-coded in this story. Expect to see this explored more in some fashion in the future. 
> 
> Translations:
> 
> 1\. “Bakit ba parang lagi nalang walang tiwala yung mga taga-Fodlan sa atin? Wala na ngang tiwala, ang yayabang pa!” // "Why does it seem like people from Fodlan are always suspicious of us? Suspicious, and arrogant on top of that!"
> 
> 2\. "Hindi ka rin taga-Fodlan, no?" // "You're not from Fodlan either, huh?"
> 
> Humans and daemons introduced in this chapter:
> 
> Shamir and Veradis (male fire salamander)
> 
> Cyril and Lashkar (female yellow-winged bat)
> 
> See you all around soon! As always, thank you for reading, I love to hear your thoughts, and I hope you all enjoyed!


	8. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Black Eagles get to take a bit of a breather and consider their relationship status, and the Death Knight lives up to his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one's a bit of a breather, at least initially, but I think we all need it after that last update! As always, I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for being patient; I still have interviews and applications to go through but I'm plugging away at it all. Also, I will update the side stories every so often. 
> 
> Content warning(s) in the endnotes so people can avoid spoilers if they wish. 
> 
> Also, I have found the anthem for pre-timeskip Ferdibert: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHFMMmE56ac
> 
> Both: For you see my classmate is...  
Ferdinand: Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe~  
Hubert: Ginger.

The Albinean Berry blend smelled of cherries and vanilla, smoothing out the astringency of the black tea that made up the base of the blend. The teapot was still warm, and the cookies had a cloth over them to keep the flies and bees away. Edelgard drummed her fingers on the table, glancing back and forth between the entrance to her favored place for a semi-private teatime and the perch on which Avarine rested.

“Dorothea is extremely intelligent and equally as adept at reading people,” Edelgard said. “How much are we going to tell her?”

_Obviously not the declaring war part,_ Avarine thought across their bond, closing her beak at the sound of footsteps. _We’re going to feel her out, see how much disdain she really holds towards the church and the nobility, and go from there._

Right on cue, Calphour fluttered around the hedges, with Dorothea just behind. She waved a hand in cheerful greeting. “Ah, Edie! It’s not every day I get a missive from the princess of the empire herself.” She pulled out the chair and swung into it; meanwhile, Calphour flew up to the perch. Avarine shuffled over to allow the little goldcrest daemon enough room to comfortably sit as Dorothea leaned forward, head propped up on her elbows, a slightly flirtatious smile on her face. “And in such a secluded location, no less.”

Even though it was still too hot to drink, Edelgard took that moment to sip her tea and hope that the cup would block the faint amount of color in her cheeks. Flames, why did so many people at the academy have to be physically attractive? Her professor was bad enough, especially after letting Belial stay the night, and Dorothea was likely teasing as she was apt to do (after all, despite her smile, Calphour still gave Avarine her space on the perch instead of snuggling in closer as she had seen truly flirting or dating daemons do), but still.

_It’s a cruel joke,_ Ava murmured across their link, _when we don’t have the time for romance, in any sense of the word. We don’t even have time to change the world in a gentler way._

“Edie? You’re being awfully quiet.”

“My apologies, I just have a lot on my mind.” She took another sip of tea. Bergamot was her favorite, as was the custom-made Hresvelg blend, but this wasn’t bad. It had a nice sweetness to balance out the slight bitterness of the tea itself. The cookies were also quite tasty; was there almond in them? “I am a princess after all, which means I have to deal with Empire duties on top of regular schoolwork and being a house leader.”

Dorothea’s brow knitted in concern. “I’m not taking up too much of your time, am I? Because I can just go if it’s too much trouble.” Calphour shifted, ready to take flight.

Avarine’s wing shot out, shielding Calphour and encouraging him to settle back down on the perch. “I promise, we wouldn’t invite you if we couldn’t spare the time. Besides, it’s useful to get another perspective every now and then.”

“So many nobles of the Empire are completely useless,” Edelgard spat. “They’re more interested in filling their bellies and coffers than anything else. When I become emperor, I intend to only appoint those with the merit to fill the necessary bureaucratic positions, regardless of their position of birth.”

And there was the shine in Dorothea’s eyes that Edelgard was expecting, the slow smirk creeping up one side of her face. “Really, you can do that? Well, don’t let me stop you; I’d give all those greedy sacks of lard the boot if I could.” Calphour let out a shudder that was only slightly dramatized.

A heavy nod from Edelgard. “It’s not a matter of can or can’t, but a matter of doing it and doing it right. There was no concept of nobility before the Adrestian empire took shape. If somebody could create it, then somebody can change, or even undo it.”

Dorothea frowned. “But that’s over a thousand years. Nobility is entrenched in every aspect of society. What would take its place? The church?”

She didn’t sound happy about that prospect, and a moment of fervent hope sparked in Edelgard’s chest. “Dorothea, what are your thoughts on the church?”

“Don’t worry,” Avarine quickly added, “This is a safe space.”

Calphour and Dorothea laughed, a short derisive bark from each in unison. “Well thank the goddess for that.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Or not, because her servants in Fodlan can go fuck themselves.”

Both human and daemon sat up a little straighter. “Oh?”

“Well, the nobles are, with very few exceptions, a bunch of lazy idiots working off our sweat and not doing anything to actually, you know, _help _in return—”

“—Though Bernie, Ingrid, and a few of the others aren’t quite as bad, maybe there’s some hope in this batch—”

“—Yes yes Cal, don’t write them all off, I know. Point is, first off the Church endorses the nobility system and their crests in the first place. And when the noblility inevitably failed, the Church could have really stepped in! They could have really helped set up something to help people through the long winters, but what did they actually give? Empty platitudes and the occasional soup kitchen where they would take the opportunity to preach at us while we stood in line for a bowl of lukewarm watery gruel!” The teacup clattered as Dorothea slammed it onto the saucer with unnecessary force, her lip curled in a snarl before she composed herself.

It wasn’t anything Edelgard didn’t know about—Hubert had prepared a thorough dossier on Dorothea in preparation for this meeting, after all—but to hear it from the normally wry flirty young woman herself was different. “I’m sorry to have brought up painful memories.”

“Oh Edie, it’s okay. It’s not like you knew, and it’s all in the past.”

She did, but it wasn’t like she was going to say it. They spoke for some time on the nature of Adrestian politics, the nobility, the church, and their complete uselessness. So many times Avarine wanted to openly recruit Dorothea to their cause, but Edelgard stopped her. They needed to be oblique, circumspect. But even with her careful speech, she…had fun. Dorothea was intelligent, diligent, witty and sharp with a sense of humor and insight as cutting as Hubert’s. She was fun to talk to. So they talked for nearly an hour, long after the cookies were devoured and the tea had gone cold.

Finally, with some reluctance, Avarine flew off her perch to Edelgard’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we have a scheduled meeting with Professor Byleth.” They had narrowed down the possible locations of attack (what was Raphael thinking, attacking the mess hall? Edelgard wasn’t privy to all of the details on this assault but if the rumors about the Holy Mausoleum were true…) and now needed to plan their counterassault. She hated this, hated playing both sides and pretending to be a student when she had much greater, and more horrible, goals. All she really wanted was to soak up these halcyon days, enjoy herself with her new friends, flirt and fight and learn and fall in love, enjoy the life she should have had before those who slithered in the dark and those who dared to call themselves holy stripped all that away from her, along with her siblings’ lives, and the lives of so many others.

“But I would love to speak with you again. If I am going to make a new and better Adrestian Empire, then I will need wisdom and expertise from as many different sources as possible. Dorothea, you are a woman to be admired, and I am proud to call you an ally and friend.” And oh, she wanted that to stay. At that moment, she hoped that Dorothea would understand and forgive her inevitable betrayal, even if it was too much to ask the former opera star to walk beside her.

Dorothea was not privy to her thoughts, and so chuckled. “My, that almost sounds like a recruitment speech! And yet I find myself wanting to believe in you, or at least see your path. I would love to talk again. Honestly, Edie, you say the most fantastical things sometimes. And yet you somehow manage to make them sound attainable, like you’re going to bend the world to your will. It’s almost like you’re the starring character in your own opera!”

It was almost operatic, wasn’t it. But there were two genres in general. “I wonder how they would portray me,” she mused. “The revolutionary who guided the Empire to a new dawn…or the foolish ruler who took her revolution too far…”

Calpour turned to eye Edelgard, but the smile never left Dorothea’s face. It was fixed there as she said, “Well, either way, it would make for a wonderful story.” And then, Flames take her, she broke into song. “Hail the mighty Edelgard, though red blood stains her story…”

Now Edelgard buried her face in her hands, where she could feel the blush warming her cheeks. “Dorothea, stop…”

She did not. And then Calphour joined in with his liquid baritone. “Hail the mighty Avarine; her talons—"

Avarine launched herself off Edelgard’s shoulders and chased Calphour around the courtyard; both he and Dorothea screeched in laughter at Edelgard and Avarine’s flustered protests.

Eventually Dorothea actually got up to leave with the same cheery wave as when she entered. Though she was humming her new hymn to Edelgard under her breath the whole while.

Edelgard’s head was still buried in her hands, but she flicked her gaze over to Avarine. The gyrfalcon silently took to the air and followed Dorothea and Calphour from a distance. Edelgard sat up, closed her eyes, and breathed as she let herself more clearly see through Avarine’s eyes and hear through Avarine’s ears at the expense of her own senses. But it was safe here, as safe as anywhere could be at least.

Calphour sat on Dorothea’s shoulders and spoke in a low voice. “There’s more she’s not telling.”

“I know, but Edie keeps her cards close. And we are, in the end, just a glorified street rat while she's the freaking princess; don't look at me like that Cal it's true and you know it. Frankly I think we got a lot of information from her today. We’ll just have to wait and see until she feels comfortable telling us more.”

Their voices went low, low enough that Avarine didn’t want to risk getting any closer. That was enough for today anyway. She turned around and flew back, aching to be close to her El again.

* * *

Petra had been holed up in the cathedral for literally the entire day and was getting increasingly frustrated. Ardi had surrendered to a moment, well, several moments of immaturity and honked as loudly as he could just to hear it echo around those polished stone walls and vaulted ceilings, just to break the boredom of sitting and alleviate some of Petra’s mounting frustration.

**“It’s not that I can’t read these; they’re perfectly legible,”** she said to Ardior, comfortable in their native tongue. **“I’ve been in Fodlan long enough to learn how to read and write the language, even if some of the grammatical constructions still elude me when speaking out loud.”**

Ardior nodded before leaning over to flip another page of the Book of Seiros. “**The problem isn’t the words, it’s the sentences. This may use the same letters and words as the language we read and write and hear and speak every day, but it’s not the same language at all! This is a language of, of,”** He flapped his wings, searching for the word. **“Of stories and parables. There’s a whole layer of metaphor and allegory here that I’m just not getting. Like this!”** He pointed towards a passage. **“Why do they refer to wolves and stars so much when this Immaculate One is neither, at least from what images exist? And just what is this Immaculate One, and why is it called that?”**

**“I don’t know.”** Petra groaned in frustration and shook her head. **“Fodlanese is a second language, and Fodlan is a second culture. We don’t have the wider context for the language of the Fodlan religion like we do back home. I’m sure the people here wouldn’t understand the deeper meaning of our stories or spirits without a very long explanation. Probably several.**”

This wasn’t going to work, not alone. Petra flopped onto the pew, tabling her research for the moment. **“We’re going to have to ask someone for help parsing these and giving context. Maybe Dorothea?”**

**“What? Why?”** Ardior honked. **“She’s not religious at all! Actually, I think she kind of hates the church.”**

At this point Petra’s arm was over her head, so her voice came out muffled. **“Oh yeah, good point. Maybe Linhardt? Or Mercedes? What about Marianne?”**

Ardior sat on Petra’s chest and nestled down; Petra absentmindedly ran her hands over his sleek white feathers. He had settled about five months ago and she was still finding new things about his form every day. It did make a certain kind of sense; she was only fifteen. Even if Petra knew who she was at the very core, there were new things to discover about herself every day. **“Linhardt might have the knowledge to help us, if he doesn’t fall asleep halfway through. Mercedes would know the most for sure, but she’s got enough on her plate right now with Ashe and everything. Marianne might know quite a bit too.”**

**“So Linhardt and Marianne would likely be our best options.”** Petra sat up with a yawn and stretch; Ardior fluttered to the ground. They both stared at the holy text. Would she be allowed to take it out of the cathedral? She was pretty stealthy, and she could always say that she wanted to study the religion of Fodlan on her own time. That would probably satisfy the monks looking to convert her as well, even though she prayed to the spirits of home and always would, even though the priests declared that the Flame Spirit in particular would watch over her from her very first breath. Still, she was a foreigner, and many people of the church seemed awfully eager to think the worst of foreigners—especially these days.

In the end, Petra decided to take a chance and slipped the book into her schoolbag. It was heavier than she thought, but she adjusted quickly. The sunlight glared in her eyes as she stepped outside. Just how long had she been in there, reading the texts and trying to parse them out as Claude had suggested?

Ardior brought her out of those thoughts, albeit in a particularly obnoxious way. **“So why did you suggest Dorothea, if she’s not fond of the Church?”**

**“Nggllkk!”** Petra stumbled forward but managed to catch herself. **“Well, um, given her opinions on the Church, she could provide a, uh, a unique perspective?”**

Somehow, Ardior managed to _smirk._ How could he smirk? He had a bill!** “Bullshit. You _like_ her, don’t you Petra?”**

**“I—”** Her sentence broke off into stutters as she felt heat rise to her face. **“Ardior, you’re my daemon. If I like her, then you like her too!”**

Ardior simply honked a laugh in response, beat his black-tipped wings and took off in flight. He soared as far ahead as he dared go without being too far from Petra, out of the empty echoing cathedral and into the afternoon sun. Petra gave chase—how could she not?—shouting for him to come back, teasing him in their native tongue as he laughed and flew on ahead in the bright hot summer air.

He and Petra had the fate of their nation on their shoulders, but they were also only fifteen. What was the point if they couldn’t take a break every once in a while?

* * *

Ferdinand von Aegir was not having a good week.

First there was Dorothea, who hated him in a way that went past the distant cool disdain he knew she held for many nobles into something visceral, venomous, personal. And he could not for the life of him understand why! He had never met her before in his life. Perhaps his father had done something to her and her family? It was painful to accept but his father behaved in a way that brought shame to the von Aegir name. When he became prime minister he would work to benefit his subjects instead of lining his own pockets. He was Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir, after all! Was this duty towards others not how they settled, not who they were to the core? Dorothea was clearly thinking of something else when she challenged them with why Embry settled as a bee, but he could not even begin to understand what that something else might be.

Still, even if his father had done something terrible to Dorothea or her family, she did not seem like the type of person to visit the sins of the father upon the son. And if what his father did to her was egregious enough for her to do so then he would have likely heard speculation as to why! But alas, no such rumor existed, and so Ferdinand was left with little more than cryptic clues to figure out why Dorothea hated him so, why Calphour stared at Embrienne with such venom as to make her want to hide inside her capsule like they were preparing for battle.

That would have been bad enough, but then he had most grievously offended Bernadetta. He had found himself growing closer to the timid young woman over the past several months in the academy. He could tell that she found working with the horses soothing, and found himself looking forward to the relaxed smile that crossed her face when one of the foals would approach her for a carrot or some apple slices or another treat. Found himself looking forward to the way her voice became quiet and soothing as she talked to the horses, the way muscles slowly built up from archery rippled on her small frame as she hoisted buckets of water and feed. The way they worked in largely amiable silence but increasing synchronicity, as the more outgoing Malecki would converse with Embrienne.

And then he went and messed it all up.

He had only wanted Bernadetta to talk to people, do things, go out and experience the world. It was not healthy to be holed up all the time! But in his overenthusiasm he had violated her boundaries and thrown her into a panic attack from which she had yet to emerge. She was terrified that he held a grudge against her for accidentally injuring him in her fright, and had yet to leave her room.

_We cannot blame her,_ Embrienne mused as he rubbed the brace over his wrist. It was mostly healed, but better safe than sorry. _Our conduct towards Bernadetta was simply beastly. Entirely unbecoming of a noble._

Ferdinand was ashamed by it. He deserved the sprained wrist. And if he had utterly destroyed the growing trust between them both, and she never wanted to speak to him again, well he deserved that too.

_But we do not deserve this!_ Embrienne cried out in her thoughts across their connection.

Since Bernadetta refused to go to the stables, and Ferdinand’s sprained wrist limited the work he could do, Professor Byleth has been forced to find a substitute partner for stable duties. And in some divine prank, the only person available was the least favorite person in his class—no, the entire school. The one person who made him snappish and impulsive and exasperated on sight. The lank and lean shadow of the princess, the man whom he quite possibly despised most in all the world.

Hubert von Vestra.

They had crossed paths before, but this was the first time in years that they had been extended contact with each other. It was incredible, the immediate intensity of the...loathing, yes it had to be loathing, what else could it be? that he had for the skulking shadow of Edelgard. They were, quite literally, incapable of holding conversation for more than thirty seconds without it degenerating into an argument. It started with that hypocritical sycophant accusing him of obsessing over Edelgard to an unhealthy extent—as if he actually possessed an identity outside of his devotion to her! Embrienne was fairly sure he would hand over Thanily herself to Edelgard if she asked it of him—and escalated from there. If they were lucky, their arguments remained in the realm of shouted debates. If they were unlucky, which was far more common, they would quickly become little more than diatribes and ad hominem attacks, shouted to the point where they sometimes spooked the horses (they did save their shouting for the feed room and empty breezeways after that).

And the arguments were about everything. They ranged from topics as utterly mundane as the superiority of tea over coffee to the quandaries of tax revenue allocation in the Empire to the ethics systems proposed by great philosophers. Even on those rare topics where they seemed to agree on the surface concept or end goals, Hubert would quibble and quarrel and pick him apart over the tiniest little details, often with personal attacks thrown in for good measure. And what could Ferdinand do to such a challenge but respond?

Truth be told, he did find the constant debates to be mentally stimulating, on some level. And he supposed it was beneficial to examine his moral codes and proposed reforms more closely. “It would not be so bad,” Embry said as he shoveled manure into the traps and imagined that it was the words coming out of Hubert’s mouth that he was shoveling instead, “if it were not Hubert.”

That man was going to be the death of him, or at least the failure of his stable duties. He loathed that man. He both dreaded and was simultaneously eager for afternoon stable duties, where they would get too distracted in their fights to actually finish their work to his satisfaction, to the perfection expected of a noble. Ferdinand found himself fantasizing about besting Hubert in verbal and occasionally physical combat, watching the taller man hang his head in defeat, the normally sarcastic Thanily silent as she searched for a retort that would not come. His heart raced, his face flushed at the thought. There was a strange exhilaration to his total detestation of the man.

“We will show him who is superior, in stable duties and noble duties,” Embrienne said, buzzing in anticipation.

They were changing the feed, Ferdinand adding new hay to the net while Hubert held the hungry horse back from launching herself at her meal and taking Ferdinand’s hair with it. He was sure that abominable shadow would love to do nothing else, if not for the inconvenience it would cause.

That was probably the same reason Hubert actually waited to let the horse back into her stall before turning to tear into Ferdinand with some new diatribe that he was expecting from the way Thanily’s tail twitched. This one was about to whom oaths of office were directed, and how Ferdinand was a contemptible fool for his beliefs, and...what was that high pitched noise? Was that screaming?

“AAAHHHHH!!! PLEASE DON’T KILL EACH OTHER!!!”

Four heads peeked around the corner—Hubert leaned over Ferdinand’s shoulder for a better view, Embrienne nestled herself deep into Ferdinand’s hair to avoid accidentally brushing against Hubert, and Thanily’s orange muzzle was barely a foot off the floor—to see Bernadetta racing down the breezeway, tears in her eyes as she screamed frantic apologies.

“I’m sorry I’m so sorry stupid useless Bernie, couldn’t even do my job I’m so sorry Ferdinand I’m sorry I hurt you and got you both stuck together please don’t kill each other!!!”

She was hyperventilating, breaths rapid and shallow and short.

“Bernadetta,” Ferdinand said, leaning forward in front of her. His hands hovered over her shoulders, but would contact just make her worse? Better not to risk it.

She was still panting. Now Hubert looked concerned—or rather, Thanily did. The fox daemon took a few steps forward. “Bernadetta, both of us are alive and well. As you can clearly see, we have not yet murdered each other.”

She was still panicking, and even Mal was curled up, whimpering apologies.

“Bernadetta!”

She jumped from his shout, her shoulders brushed against his fingertips. That was enough to snap her out of the worst of the spiral, at least for the moment. “Yah! Ferdinand? Ferdinand! Uh, y-you’re alive? And so is Hubert?”

He nodded. “Do not fear, Bernadetta. We are both alive and well. But if I may ask, what happened to put you in such a state?”

Bernadetta’s storm-gray eyes flitted back and forth between Hubert and Ferdinand. “W-well...”

* * *

“Stupid useless Bernie. You really messed it up this time.”

“We hurt him, Bernie,” a curled-up Mal sniffled, his voice muffled. “He was nice, and helped us out, and he’s okay with us, and he’s kinda cute, and we hurt him!”

Ferdinand had been nothing but kind to them, and he only wanted to help, and now look what they did! He’d never want to speak with them again, and even if he did she knew just how much he loved competition and hated being beaten. He’d probably deem her his eternal rival or something and while Ferdie thrived on that she couldn’t handle it! She’d really messed it up this time.

The ironic thing was that Bernie had been spending some more time out of her room later. Not much, but she had even talked to Dedue not even a week ago! And yet ever since the fight with Ferdinand a few days ago she had regressed to holing up in her room, skulking out only to snatch food from the dining hall.

“I’m too scared to see him again, Mal,” she muttered as she shuffled off the bed. Mal had scampered off to the other side of her room, where the weekly schedules were posted. “I know I need to do my stable work, but...”

“Uh, Bernie?” Mal’s voice was slightly strangled. “I don’t know if we have that option...”

A shuffling, then a thump as Bernadetta made her way out of bed to Malecki. “What are you talking about?”

Mal tapped his paw on the weekly schedule. In particular, the penciled-in name on the stable duties that replaced Bernie’s scribbled-out one.

“Oh no...oh no!” Hubert? Hubert working with Ferdinand?!

“Bernie, they hate each other!”

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!” She yanked on her shoes, snatched up Mal, and sprinted full-bore to the stables. “THEY’RE GONNA KILL EACH OTHER!!!”

* * *

“So, uh, that’s why. And, uh...here I am?” Bernadetta squeaked. “And, you’re alive! You didn’t kill each other!”

Ferdinand chuckled, a low and warm thing. “Bernadetta, I appreciate your concern, but you need not worry. A sinister villain like Hubert is no match for me!”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, I know,” Embrienne smirked from the bridge of his nose.

Hubert glared, but he and Thanily were both biting back smirks—literally, in the fox daemon’s case. Bernadetta noticed. “Hubert, why aren’t you laughing?”

“You said my laugh frightened you, so I am endeavoring not to laugh. Is there a problem?”

They waited for Bernadetta to work up the courage to speak. It came in fits and starts, with quite a bit of literal paw-holding from Mal. Still, it didn’t take long for her to say, “Actually, there is. It’s not working, and...and you shouldn’t have to muzzle yourself because of me! If I’m scared it’s because I’m scared and I need to get better and be less frightened of everything!”

“So I can laugh as loudly as I want?” At Bernadetta’s tentative nod he and Thanily both threw back their heads and, “Ahaha...Muahahahaha!”

They sounded...exactly like Ferdinand would expect someone like Hubert and Thanily to sound. Hubert’s laugh was low and sinister, menacing in a way that made the hair on his neck prickle and a shudder run up his spine, while Thanily’s laugh was more of a high-pitched cackle.

It was successfully intimidating somebody, as Bernadetta paled and stepped back. “I, uh, I think I’m gonna take care of the horses bye!” The last words came out in a jumble as she snatched up a pitchfork and ran to the (very many) dirty stalls.

Ferdinand and Embrienne watched her go, so focused that Hubert’s musing made them startle. “She was terrified of both of us, and yet sprinted all the way due to concern for our well-being.”

“True.” There was so much more to her than the timid girl afraid of her own shadow. If only she could see that more easily!

_Ferdinand..._

_You are right, Embrienne. Damn it all._ “Hubert? I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“I loathe every last inch of you. Your face, your voice, your ‘moral’ code; I loathe it all. And yet, I feel we must come to...a truce, at least while Bernadetta is here.”

Now Hubert raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Bernadetta has pushed herself to an admirable extent, coming back here. We should keep our arguing to a minimum, or at least quiet, at least while she is working with us. It would not do to frighten her into believing we are about to come to blows.” Ferdinand extended a hand, calloused and slightly smeared with dirt from the stables.

Thanily pricked her ears at the sound of Bernadetta’s slightly frantic humming floating in from another stall. Hubert extended a gloved hand, the leather dark to conceal stains, and shook Ferdinand’s hand. “Very well. Truce.”

Ferdinand beamed. “Wonderful! Now if you will excuse me...” He turned and made his way over to Bernadetta, who was cleaning out half of the stalls alone. “Bernadetta?”

“Eep!” She jumped, Mal curled up, and both actions stabbed a pang of guilt in Ferdinand.

Ferdinand stepped into view, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. “Bernadetta, I just wanted to talk. Actually, I wanted to apologize.”

That caught her attention. “Apologize? I should be the one apologizing to you! I hurt you.”

“No, not at all! Bernadetta, my injury was a direct result of my carelessness. In my own insistence and thoughtlessness, I violated your boundaries. You were perfectly justified in defending yourself against a perceived threat.”

Malecki’s mouth fell open (was an apology truly that unexpected?), but Bernadetta shook her head more frantically. “Still, I hurt you! I could have done something other than panic and flail and injure you.”

Was it truly that difficult for understand an apology, a promise to reform poor conduct? What happened to make her so disbelieving of one? “Bernadetta, I...I truly am sorry. My wrist is already healing quickly but like I said, I caused you unnecessary pain and anguish, and violated your boundaries. I tried to force you to do something you did not wish to do! I…I try to be a good person, and yet despite my best efforts, I have failed in my duty as a noble.”

Bernadetta paused in her cleaning. She glanced at Malecki, some private conversation passing between the two. Bernadetta was brave, and reliable, deep down. She just needed some help to draw it out. What could have quashed it in the first place?

And yet it was never quashed, not really. Malecki held her courage. He could feel Embrienne swelling with pride and admiration at that little hedgehog daemon.

Then Bernadetta cupped Malecki in her hands and said, “Ferdinand, I...don’t get down on yourself like that! I...” She sighed. “I think some day I’ll be able to tell you exactly why, but I like my time alone. Actually, it’s more of a need.” She played her fingers over Malecki’s quills, which were soft and relaxed. “When I mess up, or even if it’s just a bad day, I can’t go outside. It’s too much, and I’m too scared. But you’re right. I do need to leave my room more often. And I’ve been learning here. So...the next day, I get up, and I get dressed, and I go to class and try again. Because one mistake doesn’t have to ruin absolutely everything.”

It was like something warm squeezing the bottom of his heart, softening it even more before rising to the rest of his body. He found himself smiling, found Embrienne surge with admiration. He wanted to grasp her hand and shower her with praise, embrace her, show her off to the world with a mighty cry that she was so much more than the timid shrinking violet everyone believed her to be.

But that was something Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir would enjoy, not Bernadetta and Malecki von Varley. So instead he smiled, warm and soft, and said, “You are doing wonderfully, Bernadetta. Keep at it. You are already much more outgoing than you used to be.”

Bernadetta looked up at him, and...yes. She was blushing. And...did his heart jump at the sight of the faint smile on her face, the dusting of pink on her cheeks?

_...Oh._

Malecki fidgeted in her hands. “So, does that mean we’re good?”

Ferdinand was too lost in his soft realization, and it was more polite for Embrienne to respond anyway. So, “Of course we are.”

Perhaps Ferdinand von Aegir was not having such a terrible week. Well, except for what happened right after.

Apparently, the three of them did such a marvelous job cleaning the stables, and Hubert had so thoroughly alienated the people on weeding duty while adamantly refusing aerial patrols, that Professor Byleth simply decided to put the three of them on stable cleaning duties. Together.

Truly, the goddess was a capricious one, who took a special interest in tormenting Ferdinand von Aegir.

* * *

Professor Byleth and Edelgard couldn’t have been talking for more than thirty minutes or so, but it felt like hours. It was all so very dull, and Linhardt found his mind wandering again as he stared at the snow-white of Edelgard’s hair. Such an odd color, or rather the lack thereof, nothing like his own deep forest green or Dorothea’s luxurious brown. And yet there was one other who shared that hair color—Lysithea. Lysithea was brilliant but with a drive and determination that baffled Linhardt. How was she not completely exhausted? Even thinking about the amount of work she must do made him want to use Runilite as a pillow and doze off.

There was a frantic edge to Lysithea; she lived like she was running out of time. Which was rather foolish of her. Everyone was running out of time, why not take it easy and enjoy it? There were only so many days of summer sun in a single person’s lifetime, why not bask in as many of them as possible? Why lock himself up in a study when he could simply take his books outside, nap under a tree, read at his leisure, and let his mind wander? They could stay there for hours, him and Runilite, their minds skipping off in different directions like stones on a pond surface. Sometimes they’d forget to eat, or sleep, and their bodies would pay those debts during class. Perhaps it was dangerous but there were so many threads of inquiry to follow, and never enough time for them all.

Caspar was the one to bring him back, every time. He was bright, kind, simple. A hot knife of intent, a splash of cold water after a muggy summer day. There was no getting lost with him. Linhardt was especially exhausted today, after getting a belated birthday present for Caspar. And oh it was exhausting, going into town, talking to people, trying to think about what somebody else would like, presenting it to the recipient, everything. But Caspar was worth the effort.

Caspar wasn’t here right now, though. So Linhardt and Runilite walked those threads together; their minds, already connected, melded even further as they gently steered themselves back to Edelgard, who was glaring at them. They must have been nodding off again. Saying something about the fake assassination attempt. So many things were hiding here. Edelgard was hiding something. So was Lysithea. Lysithea had white hair, and two crests. He saw the power thrumming through her veins, no matter how she tried to hid it. Did that mean Edelgard had two crests too? Sometimes it felt like the world was a series of jigsaw puzzles, and it was his job to piece them together on his own. Like right now, wasn’t it obvious where their enemies were going to attack?

“Really now?” Avarine’s voice chimed through his thoughts, cool and cutting. “If it’s so obvious, Runilite, then why don’t you share?”

Runilite scrambled under his cheek, forcing him upright as well instead of slumped on the table. They blinked bleary eyes at each other. Damn it all, she must have said that last part out loud. Ah well. Runilite yawned. “Well, these infiltrators aren’t actually trying to assassinate Rhea, right? Which means that they’re trying to target something else. But why would they attack the monastery on the day of the Rite of Rebirth? That’s the holiest day of the year, and the monastery will be packed to the gills with both visitors and security. That’s the worst possible scenario for pulling off a heist that I can think of. Unless they are looking to break into a place that is inaccessible every other day of the year.”

Ferdinand slapped the table. “The Holy Mausoleum! Er, my apologies Professor Byleth, I forget you were raised astonishingly ignorant of the church.” He explained for Byleth’s sake. Now there was an enigma. Their professor was eerily blank, and so was their daemon. And yet he had seen more emotions cross them over time. They weren’t empty, no, but they were muted. Like someone muffled under so many blankets you only so a vague lump of the person underneath. Was she suffocating too, somewhere deep under those many layers?

They were talking about something else again, maybe battle plans, maybe Claude’s upcoming birthday, something Linhardt could only partially pay attention to because, frankly, he didn’t care. He had to be in this academy, and there was so much to learn, and he’d learn the magic needed to keep his classmates and friends alive because he hated the sight and smell of blood and didn’t want anybody to die. But all of that required so much effort, and he and Runilite only had a finite amount to go around. So he rested his head on his daemon again, closed his eyes, and cast out his mind to wander alongside hers.

If there was anything important in that conversation, Edelgard would be sure to let him know.

* * *

Linhardt and Runilite were right. Dozens, possibly hundreds of people had made the pilgrimage to the Holy Mausoleum. It was easy for a few dozen people to stay behind and make themselves inconspicuous.

Well, except if your name was Linhardt and Runilite. In that case you and your daemon would all but crawl over the casket, poking and prodding every last inch of it, and promptly get discovered and chased out by the guards. Which also distracted them from the actual infiltrators. Byleth could feel Sothis banging her head against the metaphorical wall and frankly she felt like doing much the same. The three of them—Byleth, Belial, and Sothis—had quickly and unanimously decided to have Linhardt take some remedial stealth classes.

“Maybe have Petra tutor him?” Belial mused. The young Brigidian princess was the best in the class at stealth—possibly best in the year. Even Shamir was impressed, and the stoic sniper did not impress easily.

But that would have to wait. For now, Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn had retreated to perform the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth, a mysterious ritual which for some reason required the archbishop, her administrative adviser or whatever Setheth’s position actually was, and an unsettled girl to remain in a secluded location for several hours.

_“Which isn’t unnerving at all, not one bit,”_ Sothis snarked. Hubert and Edelgard would like her, but mentioning the voice in her head would probably raise more questions than answers. _“You’d think somebody would have raised questions in the past thousand years or so, but apparently not. Sometimes I think you really are little more than sheep, no matter what your daemons may be.”_

Byleth wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. This sort of moral or social debate, she...couldn’t do. She didn’t have strong enough convictions to defend either way, much less make a forceful argument. Something did bubble in her at Sothis’s words, which was more than before. She’d examine them when they weren’t in a battle.

Right now, an unnervingly-enthusiastic Ashe forced open one of the locks to the Holy Mausoleum, the infiltrators having locked the door behind them, and offered to guard the entrance alongside Cyril to prevent reinforcements from arriving. In the meantime, Byleth gathered her fledglings for some last minute advice.

“We all got a good look at the mausoleum today. They’re probably waiting for us, so everyone be ready to attack the moment we open the door. If I would them I would station archers, mages, and maybe a couple of heavily armored people just behind that ledge to rain hellfire on anyone who tries to climb up. Bernadetta, Petra, Hubert, Dorothea, I’ll need you to fire back and fire fast.” She pointed to Ferdinand and Edelgard. “You’re both good up close and can take a hit. Keep our ranged classmates safe. Caspar, I want you to stick to hit and run tactics. Don’t overexert yourself, and keep Peakane safe. Linhardt, how’s that ranged heal spell coming along?”

Linhardt yawned, but flashed a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“Good, we’ll need it. Belial and I will be where we’re needed.”

“We may be apart from each other,” they warned. The Black Eagles shot nervous glances at each other, and held their daemons a little closer, but otherwise swallowed their trepidation for now.

An echoing noise of metal on metal and Ashe’s quiet, “got it!” were the final warnings of the imminent battle.

Edelgard and Byleth threw open the door, and true to their suspicions were met almost immediately by an onslaught of spell and steel.

Four men with sharp swords and two female spellcasters, their daemons all different types, charged right at them. There were more people, at least eight on each side, holding the line by the staircase and behind those old marble pillars. Two spellcasters and an archer right on the raised back half of the mausoleum, just as she predicted. A man in bishop’s robes and some sort of monkey daemon all the way in the back, knelt in front of the old sarcophagus while two heavily armored soldiers stood guard. And, in the center, just before the raised platform, staring them down…

_“Who is that man on horseback? And just what is he wearing? That mask, that scythe, it’s like he’s dressed as the Reaper himself. And..”_

“Where’s his daemon?!” Bernadetta cried out to Byleth’s left, even as she fired into the leg of a charging man, sending him sprawling to the ground for Caspar to finish off. On her right, Dorothea took a fire spell head-on, redirected most of the energy into her blade with barely a singe to herself, and thrust the now red-hot sword between her assailant’s ribs. He fell with a scream.

Indeed, the knight dressed like the Reaper himself had no visible daemon.

“Maybe his daemon is—ngh!—being hidden in his armor?” Petra shouted as she parried a sword thrust and responded with a slightly weaker, but far swifter, one of her own.”

Caspar looked around wildly, his spiked gauntlets dripping with ichor. “Normally people who do that paint an image of their daemon on their armor or something! Must be a real showoff or freak to not do that!”

“Regardless, that knight looks extremely dangerous, so I would highly recommend you keep your distance!” Thanily shouted, as Hubert was currently engaged in a magic duel with another priest. They danced around each other, trading incantations and blows, the other man’s fire against Hubert’s oozing miasma, until the now-singed retainer overpowered the other man, laughing all the while.

Most people obeyed Thanily; there were others to fight anyway. Even Edelgard kept her distance, although she kept an eye on that…that death knight. Belial wouldn’t keep their eyes off him, even as Byleth carved through foes for the sake of both herself and her students. But the death knight wasn’t moving. He was just standing (well, sitting, she supposed) there, menacingly.

At least until Ferdinand scoffed. “Hah! Is that a challenge, Hubert? That egotistical knight is standing between us and the most direct path to the sarcophagus. He won’t get in our way!”

“Ferdinand, this is no jest!”

But he wasn’t listening. The young noble readied his halberd, a weapon designed to drag riders off their horses, and charged with a cry of, “I am Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir, and I command you to—!”

The Death Knight ran Ferdinand through, that wickedly curved lance erupting from his back, with all the ease of someone swatting a fly.

Ferdinand, his blood dripping from around the wound as more began to trickle from the corner of his mouth, would have sunk to his knees. But instead, the Death Knight lifted the spear aloft, bringing the impaled noble along with it. All Ferdinand could do was weakly kick and gurgle, fumble at the spear coated slick with his own blood and worse as he slowly slid down it to meet the Death Knight eye-to-eye.

“Is that it?” the Death Knight asked, in a distant echo. “No more fight? No more resistance? Pathetic…”

A spike of dark magic curled in his free hand, which he then closed around Embrienne’s capsule. With a crack that somehow echoed above the din of battle, he obliterated the capsule…and Embrienne, weakly buzzing inside it.

Ferdinand von Aegir died with a choking gurgle, dangling several inches above the ground. It was over in seconds, and the surviving Eagles _broke_.

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!”

“FERDINAND!”

“FERDIE, NO!”

“Damn it, you contemptible fool!”

No! No nononono_“NonoNO!”_ There was no time to think, no time to do anything. On panic, or instinct, or something else entirely, Byleth reached deep inside herself, beyond herself, to a connection still fresh and new…and beyond, to wherever Sothis was.

The world pulsed, a reverberation which she felt in her chest as a single _thud_, then _shattered_. Its shards remained suspended in midair, a strange haze around them that Byleth could only describe as beyond black. She couldn’t hold this for long. Couldn’t turn back the clock long. But she only needed a few moments…there!

The death knight wasn’t moving. He was just standing (well, sitting, she supposed) there, menacingly.

At least until Ferdinand scoffed. “Hah! Is that a challenge, Hubert? That egotistical knight is standing between us and the most direct path to the sarcophagus. He won’t get in our way!”

Ferdinand leveled his halberd, and Belial lept in front of him with a mighty snarl, “Don’t you _fucking dare!”_

That made him stop. Belial had never, ever spoken to any of their students in that tone before. And when he looked to her, he lowered his halberd. She had never looked at him, or anyone, with an expression of naked fear before.

“Professor, I—”

But Belial cut him off. “So help me Ferdinand if you charge that Death Knight I will rip Embrienne’s capsule off your chest, flee this mausoleum, and force you to chase after me!”

_“Nice,”_ said Sothis. _“Good initiative there! Whatever it takes to keep him safe!”_

Ferdinand was actually dumbstruck, at least until a wounded mage made it past Bernadetta and forced Hubert to close into melee to prevent her from incinerating the young noble. “Very well!” Finally, he turned and rejoined the fray, instead of charging the Death Knight on his own.

That should have been it. The moment was gone, they took a careful berth around the Death Knight (who was still just…watching. And waiting), and Ferdinand von Aegir still lived.

But Byleth could still hear the sound of the spear ripping through his innards, could still see Embrienne dissolving into golden dust alongside Ferdinand’s last shuddering breath.

She used Sothis’s Divine Pulse many more times during that fight. Sometimes to have her students avoid injury, sometimes to take them on herself. She and Belial bled, and hurt, and ached in a bone-deep way that she had never before experienced. But better her than them.

They were her pups, and she would look after them.

Finally, Edelgard and Byleth fought back-to-back, axe and sword in coordination.

Edelgard swung in a wide arc, cleaving one knight’s armor open while Avarine crushed the other knight’s bat daemon between her talons. “Now, my teacher!”

“Haha, you’re too late!” The bishop and his monkey daemon pushed aside the sarcophagus lid. “The seal is broken, and we will have…what the…?”

That was all the moment Belial needed. They grabbed the monkey daemon, tossed her aside with a scream from both her and her human, lept into the sarcophagus, and came out with their jaws clenched around…a sword?

A sword made of many interlocking yellowish pieces, each piece wickedly sharp, with a strange almost rectangular spur on one end. The crossguard was broad, almost wing-like, and there was a large hollow in the center where something should be, but no longer was. It hurt Byleth’s eyes to look at, and so she didn’t.

“By, catch!” Belial tossed her the sword, Byleth caught it, and—

_Lub-dub_

—That singular thud in her chest, there and gone. Her fingers curled around the sword one by one, and people always talked about swords being an extension of the person, but _this…_

“YAH!”

The sword flared to life, a glow just like Catherine’s Thunderbrand as she swung it at the bishop. The blade extended like a flail, each individual razor-sharp piece separated but threaded on a glowing coil like beads on a string. They tore into the bishop and his daemon; his scream rang out at the fatal blow.

And then the pieces retracted, and it became a blade again. Not just any blade. A holy relic that activated in Byleth’s hands alone.

_“What is this thing?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's that. What do you all think? Thank goodness for the Divine Pulse, right?
> 
> The Ferdidetta B support is one of my favorite in the game. Ferdinand apologizes for violating Bernadetta's boundaries! And what Bernadetta says in return; whomever wrote that dialogue Gets It!
> 
> Linhardt is really tricky to write, but I will tell you that I was going for a weird tangental thought effect there. I hope I did a decent job with it; I think it's going to be one that will have to improve with practice and time. 
> 
> Anyway, like always, please read, comment if you want, and most of all enjoy!
> 
> Content warning: (Temporary) character death.


	9. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you _really_ want?
> 
> Or: How people react to Byleth’s new sword, and other revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient; I am in the middle of interview hell and so have had very little time to update. Thankfully although I’m still very busy things are a little spaced out and I should be able to resume my previous weekly-ish update speed soon! 
> 
> I'm a bit nervous about this one. Note the new tags and rating change. I really expected the rating change to happen next week but someone decided to have some..._interesting_ dreams, so now this fic is M-rated and you’re about to see the dirtiest thing I’ve written! I hope it's good? I've never written something like that before. It’s still rather tame considering, like, at least a third of the FE3H stuff on AO3 but the _really_ dirty stuff won’t happen until later. Definitely not until the timeskip/all characters involved are explicitly over 18. Actually, I think I’m going to keep the main story M-rated and make another bundle of chapters in the series for all the E-rated stuff. 
> 
> Anyway, please read, comment if you want, and most of all enjoy! 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
A character having an erotic dream, another character giving a brief but creative description of dysmenorrhea, and a third character giving a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it oblique reference to sexual assault.

If she thought Hanneman was intrusive and overexcitable before, then this—!

She stood awkwardly in his room, her coat on a hanger, shivering slightly despite the summer heat. The older professor and researcher danced around her in pure joy, as if she was nothing more than the most fascinating specimen in the world.

Which she sort of was, to him.

“The Crest of Flames! I can’t believe it; the actual Crest of Flames! Please, show me again!”

_“The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave.”_ Byleth found herself in agreement, and so held out the sword again. It still…she found she did not want to look at it. It was a powerful and amazing tool, but when she looked at it too closely, especially that hole in the hilt, it almost reminded her of that time that bandit split her knee open and she stared at her own flesh and blood and bone. Still, she held her hand over the analyzer, again felt the tug deep within of something that was simultaneously hers and not hers. The Crest of Flames—the full crest, not the fragment from before—unfurled before their eyes like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Hanneman and Theophania lit up. Byleth and Belial just stared.

She had sometimes felt a flash of power, a quick surge of strength in battle, or sometimes outside of it. Usually after her dreams of Sothis, though to be fair if she had them without the Sothis dreams she was in no condition to remember at that time. Was that this crest, this power slumbering in her veins this whole time?

_“Yes, but I think it’s more than that. Argh, I wish I could remember more, for both our sakes!”_

Hanneman was still laughing, Theophania reaching up to the image as if she could actually touch it and not merely pass through the illusion. “Nemesis had no recorded children when he died; the Crest of Flames was thought lost to history! And yet, here it is, right before me! Oh, what a joy this is, the first crest scholar in a millennium to actually witness this sight!”

Nemesis, there was that name again. The King of Liberation, who apparently turned to evil and had to be put down like a mad dog by Seiros herself.

Belial growled. “But what exactly did he liberate humanity from? The story feels…jumbled.”

“Maybe because we didn’t grow up in the church? There might be a lot of missing context.”

_“Can we stop talking about Nemesis? I don’t know why but thinking about him makes me feel sick.” _Sothis did sound somewhat queasy in the back of her head. Could a voice in her head that existed somewhere outside physical space actually vomit? And what would it do to her?

_“I don’t know, I don’t want to find out, can we stop talking about Nemesis? Please?”_

Hanneman already had; he had gone back to the Crest of Flames itself, something about wanting to test some of her flesh, something about the Sword of the—wait, what?

“…No.” She and Belial spoke as one, and walked out as one to Hanneman’s frantic backpedaling and apologies. To tell the truth, Byleth wasn’t really paying attention. She had taken out the Sword of the Creator again, that odd sawtoothed blade that broke down into a barbed whip, pulsed and glowed gently in her hand. It should have been disturbing, it was disturbing, and yet the feel of it was oddly…soothing? No, not quite that, but what else could it be? And why did Rhea entrust it to her? Why did she trust her that much? She couldn’t let the Archbishop down.

Byleth’s gaze slid down the blade to that empty hole in the hilt. It seemed to suck her in as much as it repulsed her, and every time she looked upon it she briefly forgot to breathe. Belial reached up to sniff it, drew back with curled lips. “Hanneman said you need crest stones to make a hero’s relic work, right?”

“Crest stone, that’s like the red gem thing that was in Thunderbrand, right?”

“I think so. But this works for us even though there’s no crest stone at all.” And it didn’t work for anybody else. Hanneman had tried; he had a minor crest of his own and so could activate Relics, but it was little more than a paperweight in his hands.

_“A space where something was meant to be…I cannot make sense of it.”_

Where something was meant to be…what would happen if they put the crest stone from Thunderbrand into this—

_“Don’t you even fucking think about it!”_

The outrage from Sothis’s mind was like a whip behind her eyes; Byleth actually _staggered_ back from the vehemence of her outcry. “Okay, okay! I won’t do that.” She and Belial looked at each other, then down at the sword. “So…I guess we should practice using this. Is Felix at the training ground?”

“Absolutely not,” Belial growled.

They were right. Thinking about it, the idea of going to spar, well, Byleth usually enjoyed it. She usually enjoyed the burn of her muscles, the rush of breath, the way the world went slow and clear. But right now she didn’t want to fight. Right now she wanted to fish with her father and Leonie. Or go to choir practice with Dorothea and Annette. Anything other than fighting.

Anything to make her not think of the sound that Ferdinand’s body made when it hit the ground.

“That fight messed up us worse than anything else, but why? Ferdinand is alive.” He was alive, he was so loudly vibrantly alive. He shouted answers in class, practically forced Hubert off of his desk, loudly instructed Bernadetta in lancework, everything about him was loud and excited and _alive_. So why did his dying moments that never happened still replay behind her eyes?

_“Because it did happen, even if only briefly. That’s one of the prices you, we, pay for Divine Pulse.”_

It was a heavy price to bear, and Byleth knew it would only get worse. She still ached deep within from tapping into Sothis’s power. But compared to having her students actually die? It was no price at all. It was funny. Byleth was the Ashen Demon; she was no stranger to death. She had seen members of her father’s mercenary band die too, though thankfully not as often as she killed. And it was always sad, yes, but nothing like that wild pain and grief from seeing Ferdinand killed before her, nothing like that wrenching agony that must be what people feel when they describe their heart breaking. Why did she feel such pain at seeing her eaglets hurt? Why did it drive Belial wild with agony?

_“Heh…isn’t it obvious? You love them, don’t you.”_

Love them? Byleth looked down at the sword again, at Belial. She cared for her students, yes. She couldn’t stand to see them hurt. She wanted to see them grow throughout the year, wanted to see Bernadetta slowly come out of her shell, wanted to hear Caspar’s tales of defending the weak, wanted to see Petra share her nation with pride, wanted to see Dorothea fully come into the confidence she presented to others. Wanted to see Edelgard slowly grow to trust her and her classmates.

“…I think I do.”

* * *

In theory, the spiderweb of secrets and conspiracies that Claude could only grasp tantalizing hints of should have been the puzzle of a lifetime, something that would give him endless satisfaction and joy to solve. And on some level it was, and it did.

The problem was that in practice said spiderweb was at least partially responsible for the emnity between Fodlan and Almyra as well as the hatred and discrimination he was forced to endure growing up, the absurdly stratified and rigid Crest-based caste system, the instantaneous and violent crushing of any rebellion or dissent, need he go on?

“No, keep going,” Simurg hissed. “Best to make the charge list as complete as possible.”

Against such crimes, how could the burning of books possibly compare? And yet it somehow stuck in Claude’s mind in a way the others did not.

Thank the gods for Tomas, the kindly old librarian who remembered his duty to the books. He had tipped Claude off, one snake to another his coral snake daemon had said to Simurg with a sly smile to her voice. Although he hadn’t told Claude when and where, the little information that Tomas was able to slip had been enough. He’d somehow managed to rope in Hilda, who as lazy as she was got a kick out of causing a little bit of chaos just by standing in the right place at the right time, and Lysithea, who wanted to learn absolutely everything in as short of a time as possible.

“Do you realize just how scary Seteth can be when he’s on the warpath?” Hilda whined. Halmstadt fluttered around her, keeping watch. “You owe me big for this, Claude!”

“Help me out with this and I’ll cover for any weird noises coming from your room after curfew. Though if you’re too loud and they actually open the door there’s not much I can do there.”

“Fair enough. Gotta say, I don’t know of anybody else who would have thought of that. I wish the Almyrans Mom and Holst talk about fighting were as clever as you instead of going all ‘’WRRAAGGH look at me I’m gonna charge the Locket head on to show just how manly I am!’ Would make things less dangerous.”

Hilda couldn’t see from her angle, but Claude’s smile froze, as did Simurg. He wanted to like Hilda. She was a useful ally. She was funny, smarter, stronger, and more perceptive than she liked to let on. She was incredible at delegating tasks and motivating people, with an uncanny ability to make people do all her work for her without making them feel used, and was manipulative but not outright cruel. And she was an invaluable friend to Marianne. The problem was, well,  _that_.

“She grew up in a family on the front lines against Almyra. At least there’s a reason for her distrust. It comes out of ignorance, not active malice...” Simurg’s excuses fell flat. Even if they were true, it didn’t change Hilda’s ignorance or xenophobia. Didn’t change anybody’s.

Claude looked down at his brown hands. Back home they thought him a frail, willowy thing. Here, they saw him as a hairy beast. Judith was only a quarter Almyran and she still needed that whole "Hero of Daphnel" business _and_ the toughest hyena daemon he'd ever seen for her to command the respect that she did. He could do little to conceal his heritage to those who knew how to look, but he could hide its origins, take refuge in audacity. As far as he knew most people thought he was the result of a tryst between a noble and an Almyran “servant” or possibly a battlefield assault (and oh, it said so much that most people used honeyed euphemisms for the former and only called out the latter for what it was), and that he was only made heir due to his crest and his grandfather’s desperation. He did nothing to dissuade these rumors. Let them think he was weak, the pawn of a desperate gamble, Simurg had said during one of their many strategy sessions. Such a position would only make it easier to surprise them all.

Lysithea’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Claude, this is a waste of time. I’ve only found shitty gossip rags and shittier porn.” Zilbariel kept digging through the condemned literature, his badger paws efficiently spreading out the papers and books.

Claude gasped in mock outrage. “Lysithea! Avert your innocent eyes from such salacious adult material!” That mock outrage broke down into a strangled wheeze at the last word. 

“Innocent?! Go fuck yourself on the professor’s new sword!” She didn’t even turn around.

“How could you possibly show such disrespect to our dear Teach?” Simurg flicked her tail against Zilbariel’s muzzle; the rattle briefly echoed in the small room.

Lysithea rolled her eyes, casually flipped him off. “You’re utterly obsessed with that sword, don’t try to hide it.”

She was right, of course. He was fascinated by that sword, by all of the powerful, eerie, disturbing Relics. He only saw Failnaught once, during the test to confirm his Crest, but still remembered the way the glow on that stone pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the way Simurg shuddered and slithered to his other arm that was not reaching for that bow. There was something Wrong about it, just as there was something Wrong about the occasional blankness of Teach’s gaze. Oh, if only she had decided to teach the Golden Deer!

“Better the Eagles than the Lions, at least,” Simurg muttered. The Lions seemed nice, but also very involved in themselves and their own issues. Now that he thought about it, he almost never saw Dimitri outside of the training grounds. The prince of Faerghus went to class, studied, trained, ate, trained, and went to bed. He did nothing else. Even Raphael and Oakley spent time organizing a tournament with Caspar, or birdwatching with Marianne.

Simurg curled around to rest her head on the back of Claude’s hand. “Do you remember when we were all together and planning Lonato’s secret funeral? Dimitri and Delcabia didn’t speak to each other. Not once.”

That was...more than a little concerning, actually, but didn’t seem to have anything to do with the larger mystery going on. The Black Eagles, on the other hand, were. Even without Byleth, they were fascinating. Edelgard was calm and intelligent, but where he was patient and calculating she was forward and driven. Oh, he needed to challenge her to a game of nardshir, or shatranj. He wasn’t the biggest fan of nardshir, but how would Edelgard react and adapt to the element of chance?He needed to get closer to them, but without revealing too much of anything. Petra and Lysithea—those two women were probably his way in, and who commanded respect in their own right. What did Lysithea talk about during their teatimes, and what did Edelgard plan to do to Brigid once she took the throne?

Once more, Lysithea’s voice jolted him back to the present. “Hey, Claude, stop salivating over that sword and check this out!”

In her hands was a thin collection of papers written in a language he could not understand.The pictures, at least, were easily understandable. They were detailed diagrams of an enormous winged lizard-like creature that Claude now knew was the Immaculate One, a divine beast supposedly sent by the goddess in an ancient time of great need. The details were frustratingly vague, but he suspected it involved a foreign invasion. Especially given that in all the holy texts the goddess was described as creating, then protecting the land of Fodlan and all the people in it.

_ And if the goddess made the people of Fodlan, then what did that make the people outside Fodlan? _

He had never seen this detailed a depiction of the Immaculate One before. It almost looked like a sketch from a field guide, or an animal encyclopedia people often used to identify their newly-settled daemons. And that marking on her head...

“Is that the crest of Seiros?”

Claude and Lysithea shared a nod as he slipped the papers into his pocket. He needed to speak with Edelgard. Best to proceed with caution, avoid showing his hand too early. At least he had time to forge relationships, work his way in. In a year they would graduate, and soon after that he would lead the Alliance and Edelgard would become emperor. After that they would have all the time in the world for diplomatic summits, places to speak in private while he dismantled the Locket and hatred dividing Fodlan and Almyra. Professor Byleth would continue to teach, and once she taught the Golden Deer it wouldn’t be too difficult to evaluate her more closely.

In the meantime he and Simurg would do what they do best. Bide their time, avoid the enemies all around them. Warn off those they could not evade, and only strike as a last resort. He could lie in wait for the perfect time and place to strike. He had time. 

* * *

“Yes, those are all the standard pieces of horse tack. You are learning so quickly, Bernadetta.”

Ferdinand was in her room, sitting at her desk. They were studying for his cavalier exam, the textbooks and diagrams strewn over the wood. Malecki and Embrienne were there, the bee daemon nestled in his quills. His hair shone like sunlight, brighter than the single flickering candle in her room.

Bernadetta draped over him as he read out the notes for her archery quiz. She could feel his cheek warm against hers, his fingers soft as they reached up to intertwine with her own. He rubbed his thumb gently back and forth along the pulse of her wrist. “You will do wonderfully on this exam, Bernadetta. You have been doing so well since arriving here.”

“N-no, I I’m not doing that well at all, I...” Nervous laughter bubbled up in her chest, but that wasn’t why she stopped attacking herself. She was stupid useless Bernie wasn’t she? Wasn’t she? But Ferdinand didn’t think she was. Bright Ferdinand, the very incarnation of sunlight himself, he didn’t think so.

“Nonsense, Bernadetta. You are so much more outgoing than you used to be. You are amazing and intelligent and beautiful, my Bernadetta.”

Mal sighed, stretching out under Embry’s contented hum. Her? Amazing and intelligent and beautiful? No. No way. She wouldn’t, she wasn’t...was she? Was she actually beautiful? Funny? Someone worth being with?

Ferdie seemed to think so. Ferdie seemed to think so as he ran his thumb along her knuckles, brought her hand up to his soft pink lips. “You have me trapped, my little sundew.”

It would be more accurate to say she was trapped. With one hand, Ferdinand gently pushed her back against the soft pillows on the edge of her bed. Ran a hand through her tangled lavender hair. Held her (her shirt was unbuttoned, her front exposed) to his bare chest. Pressed his lips against her forehead, the top of her nose, her own chapped lips. One of them, maybe both, let out a soft sigh, an invitation for him to slip his tongue in her mouth, run it along hers.

His other hand slipped down her chest, down the smooth expanse of her belly, over the coarse thatch of hair below her navel to rest between her thighs.

“A-ah! Ferdinand...”

He kissed her, and he kissed her, one hand buried in her hair with the other buried between her legs, his fingers gliding against her as she became wetter with every delicate stroke. He kissed her and he held her, and all the while he kept stroking and rubbing in exactly the places she liked best. This was happening, his wonderful hands were slick with her and she bucked her hips up against those warm fingers but it wasn’t enough she wanted more she needed _more_—

“Bern-a-det-ta,” he moaned into her mouth, thrusting a finger into her with every dropped syllable and why was it only four? Say her name say her whole name _Bernadetta von Varley_ she gasped into his mouth, though it came out as nothing more than gibberish, squeaks and moans with every stroke. He was so caring, so patient, like she was worth something. She chased into his mouth and rutted up against his glorious hand and she could feel him against her bare thigh and oh Flames she needed

“More, _moremoremore!”_

Ferdinand smiled against her mouth and kissed down her body, worked her legs apart and lined himself up between them and—

“Aaahhh!” Bernadetta catapulted awake, going from asleep to sitting in a single heartbeat. Malecki shouted and flailed as he went flying off the bed to land quill-first into a half-finished plushie pitcher plant.

“Hey!” Mal rocked himself upright, a rather difficult task given the plushie pitcher plant still stuck to his quills. “I was enjoying that!”

Bernadetta said nothing, just sat up, chest heaving as the dream shattered around her, their shards gently falling and fading away. It wasn’t as if these dreams were entirely new. She was a nearly grown woman, getting taller and stronger by the day if the way she just had to let out her uniform was any indication. Even she, ugly unmarriageable Bernadetta, had these thoughts and feelings and dreams, would, ah, indulge herself to them on occasion.

But these fantasies usually involved fictional characters, perfectly crafted gentle and kind men from the romance novels she smuggled under her bed and her own horrific attempts at erotica. They weren’t for real life, not for her. Her father and the Wife Lessons had taught her well. Real life was rich graying men with leering eyes and wandering hands, who thought her...everything was an acceptable price for her crest and her maidenhood. Real life was her father marrying her off and everyone at the academy forgetting about her, if they even knew she existed in the first place, and her designated husband siring crest babies on her until he got as many as he wanted and then threw her and Mal away.

Real life, for her, was not this year of relative respite at the academy where the idea of going outside was becoming slightly less terrifying day by day. Real life was not the friends she had made here, or the Professor, or the princess who listened to what she had to say. Real life was not Ferdinand von Aegir.

“But why can’t it be?” Mal had made his way up the ramp to her bed, a somewhat impressive feat given that the half-finished pitcher plant was still impaled on his quills. Bernadetta pried it off and squished it between her hands. “I mean, he’s so nice! And he listens to us, and apologized when he was too pushy and he’s so encouraging and handsome. Why can’t we court him?”

Why not? Because...because... “Because he’s going to be the next prime minister. He could marry anybody in the empire, so why would he even consider courting somebody like,” she waved a vague hand over her whole self, her cracked calloused fingers and scarred-up hand and frizzy bird’s nest excuse of a hairstyle and sad face and clothing that stood no chance of keeping up with her last-minute growth spurt and her...everything, “Like me?”

Oh no. She had it bad, didn’t she.

“Okay, maybe you’re right, you’re probably right, but maybe we should tell him? Who knows, maybe we’ll get super lucky?”

“Or he’ll never want to speak to us again and we’ll ruin what we have! I, Mal, he’s our friend, I can’t, I’ll—“

“—Sit here and be consumed by lust?”

Bernadetta threw up her hands. “I guess?!” To make matters worse, the gossamer threads of her arousal had evaporated, leaving her merely uncomfortably damp. She tore off her smallclothes and chucked them at the pile of laundry, flopped back onto the bed and buried her head in the pillow. An experimental grind against the wadded-up blankets, but...nope, feeling was gone, wanting was gone and all that was left was the frustration and mild, ever-present panic. She pressed her face deeper in the pillow, the better to muffle her voice. “Why me?!”

Unbeknownst to her, Ferdinand had also been plagued with similar dreams of himself and Bernadetta.

Well, not just the two of them.

Ferdinand sat up in bed, uncharacteristically silent, his hair mussed with sleep and sweat, his blankets crumpled in his clenched fists. He glared at the ruined sheets, but no answers were forthcoming. Embrienne sat on his shoulder.

“...Ferdinand, we speak of this to _nobody_.”

He was inclined to agree.

* * *

The smell of incense hung heavy in the air; it permeated every inch of Seteth’s room. He knelt before the shrine and began his morning prayers, just as every devout member of the church did. But these prayers were his own, slightly different from the official ones in all the most important ways.

He started with the prayers to the dead. Not a request that they and their daemons be sheltered in the goddess’s embrace instead of wandering lost, but a series of apologies. Apologies for not recognizing the threat of Nemesis and the Agarthans quickly enough, for letting his wife fall in battle, for letting his son be murdered, for not being able to stop Riegan from carving up his corpse.

He did not know whether the parts of his son trapped in Failnaught could hear his apologies, his prayers, his promises that his sister was safe and sound and loved, and did not know whether he wanted to find out.

Seteth sometimes found it hard to look at Claude, the smiling inquisitive arrogant young man, and not see his son’s stolen blood running through his veins. To not think about how he would soon innocently receive, as a trophy, his son's flesh and bone and Stone. What would Flayn do, if he told her? But the students in Garreg Mach now were not the ten “elites”. It was truly a testament to Rhea’s wisdom and restraint that she did not repay the monstrous sins of their ancestors on these children, that she let them grow up with the confidence of believing they were descended from heroes and not a pack of thieves and murders. And that had its own repercussions; the additional emphasis that humans placed on crests had unforseen consequences that the students were forced to deal with, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Rhea had made the right decision, all those centuries ago.

Which is what made her more recent actions so...disquieting.

Another prayer, this one to Seiros, who received the goddess’s blessing and for whom the Church was named. Rhea, as she preferred to be called now, had been acting oddly ever since Byleth arrived at Garreg Mach. She was enamored with the girl, no, obsessed.

She made a girl barely older than her charges professor of the future Adrestian emperor, Prime Minister, and nearly every other minister of the empire. Tasked her with guiding them through professional and personal dilemmas, leading them into combat, keeping them alive and safe through what was rapidly becoming an unusually tumultuous year. True, Byleth was quite effective at the job—Bernadetta was seen out of her room increasingly often as of late, Caspar was developing some modicum of impulse control, all her students scored top marks—and her father’s history with the Knights was impeccable before the fire, but she was a blank slate in every sense of the word.

There was nothing on Byleth’s background. No mother. No formal education. No record of church ordainment. No teaching experience. Not even a year of birth. The mercenaries he tracked down and interviewed all told the same story, a story of a blank girl and a dead-eyed daemon who could be any distance apart, who rarely spoke but seemed to look right through them, who only had fleeting moments of awareness that did, to be fair, improve as the years went by. Who turned into a fearless and ferocious demon on the battlefield, especially when one of her allies was in danger. And somehow Rhea believed that was enough to make her a professor. Nothing he did could convince her. Yes, Byleth was performing with aplomb, but now? _This?_

A prayer to the goddess, who blessed Fodlan and the people who walked it. A prayer to Sothis, whose bones Byleth unknowingly wielded, whose blood she unintentionally inherited.

That sword, the Sword of the Creator, the mutilated remains of Sothis, was the most valuable thing in the Church, the most precious thing Rhea possessed. She never let it out of its place of repose in the holy mausoleum. And yet she let Byleth wield it, carry it around, use it in battle. And Byleth could do all those things, utilize Sothis’s power in the sword, even though the Stone was missing.

The prayers were done; the bells to the cathedral sang out their conclusion as the priests, monks, and more devout students left to start their day. Seteth knelt and opened a drawer. The crickets chirped and sang in the container that he held in his hands. Byleth was an unusually emotionless girl with an unusually emotionless daemon, no background, no teaching experience, whom Rhea placed in a prestigious position. Whom Rhea gave special attention, shared stories about Jeralt in her own private chambers. He did not understand just what Rhea’s motivations were here, only that they were erratic and disconcerting in a way he had never before seen from her.

Worst of all, there was nobody Seteth could talk to about this. He did not dare bring Flayn into these discussions. Macuil had quite literally washed his claws of Fodlan and flown off to parts unknown. Indech had hidden away in some unknown location; he had not yet found his younger brother.

Seteth placed the crickets in the cage by the window, watched them hop around, watched the bearded dragon chase them down and swallow them whole. In times like this, he wished he had a daemon, just to hear another voice of concern. But he was a Nabatean, not a human. Even if he would never again shed this human skin, would never again feel the wind beneath his wings, the rumble of a mighty roar in his throat, the swoop of his horns against his fur and scales, he was still a dragon.

And dragons did not have daemons.

The bearded dragon finished her meal and scrambled back onto the wooden perch to sun herself. Seteth went back to the library to sort through the new donations, filter out everything that he and Rhea had deemed too dangerous for human eyes. He was not sure what a daemon would say in response to those thoughts, and was not entirely sure he wanted to know.

* * *

Hubert was not in the cathedral. Hubert was as not in the cathedral as a man could possibly be. The last time Hubert set foot in a cathedral or church or any other place of Seiros worship he was fourteen and desperate. He and Thanily had vowed that the next time they stepped into a place of Seiros worship, it would be to burn it to the ground. He was in the small wooded area where they had their first mock battle, and he was not alone.

Hubert usually trained alone, for Dark magic was...not favorably viewed by the Church. But this time Lysithea was here with him. The air was heavy with the sticky feel of dark magic that drained at their fingertips and left them numb, shattered rocks and made the blades of grass wither and wilt. But it was powerful, and difficult to counter due to the sheer unfamiliarity most people had with it as much as anything else.

Seeing Jeritza, or the Death Knight, or whatever that rabid hound in the guise of a man called himself these days, in the Holy Mausoleum unnerved him. The Crest system had torn away the man he was supposed to be, and all that was left was a barely-controllable thing of murderous intent. Hubert hated working with the Death Knight almost as much as he hated working with those who slithered in the dark. It reminded him too much of what could have happened to Lady Edelgard, what could have happened to him.

And now their “friends” in the dark had taken that living weapon for their own entertainment, which would inevitably mean more unnecessary bloodshed, and all but guaranteed another encounter with the Death Knight on the battlefield. That...concerned Hubert, he reluctantly admitted under Thanily’s direct confrontation. There was precisely one spell that could instantly incapacitate him; otherwise his classmates could not stand a chance against the Death Knight.

He had nightmares about what would have happened to Ferdinand if Belial had not literally lept between the two.

All of this was to say that Hubert needed to learn Dark Spikes _fast_, and the best way he could think of doing that was to train with the only other dark magic user in the entire monastery. Lysithea was also a valuable source of information. And, yes, her company was tolerable and her insights and verbal takedowns were entertaining, even if her words were more sledgehammer blunt, less cutting honeyed barbs than Dorothea’s.

So they trained. They trained until the rocks were shattered and the grass around them was black and dead, until Hubert’s fingers and hands went numb like he was touching the world through thick leather gloves, until Lysithea cried out and nearly lost control of her incantation. But they kept training, and all the while their daemons kept talking through the agony of dark magic’s spiritual recoil, because pain was an old friend.

“Where did you learn dark magic?” Zilbariel asked, a honey badger far stouter than Thanily’s fox shape. “Because I had the basics drilled into me before I could reliably speak in full sentences.”

Thanily flexed her claws. “I stole it.” Those scraps of magic and her settled form were the only good things to come out of their secret mission below the palace.

That caught Zilbariel’s attention. “How did you manage to do that?”

“With great difficulty, teenage bravado, and very nearly dying multiple times.” Thanily smirked with false levity, her back stiff. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Zilbariel shuddered, his form rippling under another wave of pain. Mire this time; he pressed himself to the earth. “I wouldn’t recommend my method either.”

Thanily moved to help Zilbariel to his feet; he growled and did it himself. It was a struggle, but he did it himself. “I’m fine! I’m fine. But what about you?”

Hubert let the incantation fade away and started rubbing the feeling back into his fingers. It would take hours for them to feel like actual parts of him again. “I’m perfectly fine. I should be asking you the question.”

Zilbariel scrambled to his feet and made his way to Lysithea’s side. She glared at Hubert, more so than usual, dug her fingers into Zilbariel’s fur, and said, “You know what, I’m just going to cut to the chase. You and Edelgard are always a little bit cagey and evasive, even around me, and I know about her two crests. I...I’m not living past thirty. I don’t even know if I’ll _make_ it to thirty. Edelgard will be lucky to see her thirty-fifth name day. I’m pretty sure both of us are sterile after what those bastards did to us, if the way my cycles are a visceral horror of my body trying to turn itself inside out without warning or predictability instead of a regularly scheduled inconvenience is any indication. The rest of our families are gone. We have no time or future, in any sense of the word. Edelgard isn’t the type of person to play at being student without an ulterior motive, and you’re her freaky shadow. So what are the two of you doing here, and what are you planning?”

Lysithea was brilliant, Hubert had to remind himself. She was brilliant, and had suffered in the exact same way Lady Edelgard did. Furthermore, she and Lady Edelgard had tea together once a week since their initial introduction; although she still widely restrained herself she was slightly more open with Lysithea than with any other teatime guests. There might have been enough dropped crumbs for her to pick up on something.

But he could trust nobody. Would Lysithea truly join them, once the war began? And in any case, this was Lady Edelgard’s story to tell.

“What do you want?” Hubert whipped towards Thanily. Why was she saying anything? “Lysithea, what do you really want?” The remnants of dark magic still hung in the air. It was the spiritual equivalent of sandpaper to the skin, leaving emotions oozing and tender to the touch.

Zilbariel snarled. “What do I want? You know exactly what I want! I want to not know what it’s like to be cut open and get a first-person look at my insides! I want to live long enough for my hair to grow white naturally! I want a body that’s not crumbling to pieces on me from having two crests! I want to settle properly!” Zilbariel kept ranting as he paced back and forth, his form shifting to a foul-tempered wolverine. “I want to go home and see my brothers and sisters instead empty chairs at empty tables and my parents’ daemons too broken to talk and a house full of ghosts! I want to live! I want my family back! I want _time!_”

“I’m sorry,” Hubert said. “But that’s impossible. Your family is dead and gone and never coming back.”

“I know that!” She snapped at him. “That’s why I want, no I need to learn as much as I can, and make sure that my parents are going to be okay after...after I’m gone.” Lysithea paused, and when she spoke again there was a different edge to her voice. “And revenge.”

There was the glimmer in Lysithea’s eyes, the burning conviction and determination that propelled her forward. The two crests may have been tearing her body apart inch by agonizing inch, but Zilbariel’s fur was sleek and thick, and he stood tall and strong. He couldn’t trust her fully, not yet. What if she blamed the Empire for the atrocities visited upon her and her family instead of the true enemy?

But maybe...maybe...

No. Hope was a useless, dangerous thing. Still. “Lady Edelgard and I desire much the same.” He stood and paid his respects to the younger dark mage with a shallow bow. She had earned that much. “I have a meeting with her now, but I am sure Lady Edelgard will call upon you again soon. Until next time, Lysithea.”

* * *

Edelgard and Hubert walked the perimeter of Garreg Mach as they spoke; Thanily kept pace by his side while Avarine soared far overhead as lookout. Hubert had almost a foot on her and yet he deliberately shortened his stride to match hers, just as he always did. 

“Hubert, remember our conversation all those years ago, in the gardens shortly after I was released from the dungeons?”

“We had a lot of conversations back then.”

“The one where you mentioned the Sword of the Creator falling into our laps.” They made their way past the empty graveyard; Avarine descended in a sharp stoop, pulling up at the last minute to land on Edelgard’s shoulders. “I mean, well...” The weak attempt at humor died on her lips. 

Hubert folded his arms, pensive. “How much of it is a coincidence, I wonder.” 

“No, you’re right.” Edelgard stopped walking; without missing a beat Hubert turned to shield her from any potential passers by. “Nemesis had no children; I have no idea how my captors got the Crest of Flames but there is no other potential source I am aware of in the world. And your background check for Professor Byleth came up empty. It is as if she sprung into the world from nowhere at the age of seven or so, with even that little more than an educated guess, and gained the moniker of Ashen Demon less than a decade later.”

“They used Lysithea as a prototype for the two-crest model, but they did not implant Flames into her.” Hubert ticked off on his fingers. “She has no background or history and her father is reluctant to share details. She has the Crest of Flames. She has infinite range from Belial. Although they have improved as of of late, her affect and emotional range are severely stunted—"

“She is  not severed!” Avarine screeched with a flash of speckled wings. 

Hubert held up his hands. “I didn’t say she was. But either way, although they deny it, Professor Byleth was likely the result of an earlier experiment by our “friends” in the dark.” Thanily slightly hunched her shoulders, let out a tiny whine. 

“They must have considered her a failure and threw her away, at which point Jeralt found her and took her in.” Her teacher was just like her. Did she remember her time in the dungeons, knives peeling away her flesh and bare hands grabbing at her daemon, rats skittering over the scraps of food tossed to her while Avarine screamed in her cage and tried to scare them away? 

“Edelgard! Breathe. I’m right here.”

Edelgard let out a shaky breath. Breathe, just as she had to learn. Five of Avarine’s tail feathers, darker than the rest. Four kittens hiding under the bushes. Three sets of eyes guiding her through the breathing exercise. Two hands which could still hold an axe and cut a path to a better future. One professor, her teacher, a comrade in arms, a friend, beautiful and stoic and strong and...maybe...

“Hubert, our teacher has the Sword of the Creator, and she was raised outside the influence of the church. Maybe, just maybe...”

“Don’t give yourself false hope, Lady Edelgard, I beg you,” Hubert growled. “Rhea is doing everything she can to get the professor back into her clutches. And even if she fails, remember we need the war to draw out those who slither in the dark into the light so they can be properly dealt with as much as we need it to destroy the crest-based caste system, the corrupt church, and this entire rotting society. But it’s still a war; do you truly think the professor would side with us? Do you think  anyone would?"

“Lysithea might. And Dorothea seems sympathetic to our cause as well.”

“But how much do they know?” It pained Hubert to say this; she could see it on Thanily’s face. “I agree that it would be useful to feel out potential alliances, but I would not expect them to truly last. They may be our friends now, but it won’t last. I will walk by your side until my dying breath, Lady Edelgard, but we cannot trust that anybody else will!”

“...I know.” Hubert was right, of course. Still, it would be worth feeling out alliances, and she found herself enjoying those chats with her classmates, talking about the future or even just joking around, taking the few moments to play as the young woman she never got to be. And for the first time Edelgard felt something stirring in her heart. Something beautiful and terrifying, that she thought had died beneath the palace all those years ago. 

Hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you guessed it, so here it is: The dragons don’t have daemons; they pretend at it to maintain their disguise. Only humans have daemons; in the original His Dark Materials canon the armored bears had their armor and the mulefa had the seed pods. 
> 
> The dragons don’t have daemons, but they are people and they still have souls, still have physical anchors that connect them to Dust. So if not daemons, what could their anchors be? 
> 
> Solon’s daemon is a coral snake, a brightly colored venomous snake whose bite can cause respiratory failure. Before Tomas was killed and replaced by Solon, _his_ daemon was a coral snake mimic, a harmless snake whose patterns mimic that of the coral snake so it can avoid predation. 
> 
> Edelgard and Hubert want to make alliances, but they can't bring themselves to trust anybody enough, at least not yet. Their codependency isn't helping matters much either. Still, they are making strides, slowly but steadily.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You’re the best and it really makes this crazed ride worthwhile. I know I have a lot of comments to reply to so I’ll get to them now. Happy holidays and happy new year!


	10. Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s go check in on the Blue Lions and...oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you all so, so much for this crazy ride. I hope you’re all having a wonderful time, and please enjoy this chapter! It was tough to get into the heads of the Lions the way I wanted to, and I hope their interpretations go over well. Especially Sylvain.
> 
> Content warnings:  
Mentions of sexual conduct, the inside of Sylvain’s head in general (I’m not joking about this one), and mentions of genocide.

Sylvain woke, stretched, and bumped into a body that was not his own. His mind snapped into place, shaking off the threads of dreams, and he began rapidly filing through his first-moments-of-consciousness checklist. He was awake in a room that was not his own, in a bed that was not his own. It was warm, the windows open and a fresh breeze drifting in. His foot brushed against a smooth leg, taut muscle underneath skin that was softer than his own. Pink hair spilled over the pillow to brush into his mouth; a butterfly daemon rested on the windowsill, shimmering blue wings folded up in sleep to reveal the duller brown undersides, dotted with eyespots. 

Ah, right. He was in Hilda’s room. Fucking _finally._ He’d been trying to get in her panties for _weeks_, ever since she saw right through him to the bastard he was. Takes one to know one, of course; she probably wanted to see just how much she could get him to do for her in bed ever since that thing with the books. Joke was on her though; he had a lot of anger to take out. Heh, at least she’d have a good excuse for skipping training today if last night was any indication. Or tomorrow; today was a free day, wasn’t it? Aw yeah, as good an excuse as any to just stay in bed and enjoy the lazy humidity of this summer day. Better that than going outside and having to deal with Ingrid lecturing him, or the Eagles Professor. What was her name? Beleth? Ah, Byleth. And her creepy wolf daemon Belial.

He didn’t even want to look at Professor Byleth; just the thought of her made his stomach turn, sent an angry flame through him, sent Zepida into a hiss. It wasn’t like this before. Before he couldn’t get enough of a look at the hot new professor, who was tall for a chick, all corded muscle and wild hair and the biggest tits he’d ever seen—and with Dorothea and Mercedes as classmates and Manuela as the Deer professor there was some _stiff_ competition. But now all he could see when he saw the professor was not her glorious rack or even her creepy blank gaze but her Crest of fucking Flames. All this time she had a Major Crest, a Major Crest that had been gone from the world for over a thousand years. She shouldn’t be a professor! She shouldn’t have been wandering the world doing mercenary shit with her dad until the Church plucked her up from the marriage pool and placed her under their protective wings. By this point she should have been wed off to the highest bidder, pumping out crest babies instead of teaching older ones.

Instead Byleth and Belial got to grow up _free._ They never had to suffer the weight of expectations of a crest. Never had a brother who hated them for the crest they never wanted. Never had to stand stock still while women and their daemons checked over him and Zepida like they were horses at market. She was a lucky bitch who should pay for being free.

Yeah, he’d show Byleth just how lucky she was, he thought, his hand slipping below the thin blankets to fumble at himself. Hilda was still asleep next to him, her breaths slow and even. He’d get that blank stare of hers to crack, get that wolf to howl. He’d pay that debt, make her pay the price for the freedom that she didn’t even know enough to appreciate. He’d knock her to the ground, and—his breath turned harsh, his grip reflexively tightened around himself—and then he’d say something like, “It’s time to collect on your debt,” and kick her legs open. Would she or her daemon struggle, not that it would even matter, it never mattered what he said, to Miklan, or his future, or suitors or anything—

—Sharp pain, claws raked across his face. “Ow!”

“The _fuck_ is wrong with you, you piece of shit?” Zepida hissed, her claws still out on his chest and wickedly sharp.

“Shut up, you stupid cat,” Sylvain grunted, grabbing her by the scruff and shoving her away from his face, ow that smarted, she didn’t scratch deep enough to draw blood but she did scratch deep enough to leave three angry red lines. At least it shouldn’t be too difficult to explain those away.

“Mmrrgh…Sylvain?” Hilda woke slow and languid, but her hand stilled on his thigh when she rolled over and got a good look at him. “Sylvain? What happened to your face?”

He smiled and tried to laugh it off. “Oh, nothing. Must have really gotten into it last night. Say,” he eased back into his characteristic smirk, swung an arm over Hilda’s bare shoulders, “What do you say about…sleeping in?”

Hilda wasn’t looking at him, but at those three angry red lines on his cheek, so obviously from a cat scratch. Halmstadt was still on the bedpost. “Yeah, um, I think I’ll pass. Not to say last night wasn’t fun,” she stretched and _dear goddess she truly had no shame_ set to brushing her hair, “but I have stuff to do today.”

“O-oh.” Sylvain suddenly felt very foolish; bringing his hand back up over the covers only slightly alleviated the feeling. “Well, maybe I can come back over tonight?”

“Mm, maybe, I’ll let you know.” She sat up without even a motion towards her discarded clothes or dresser, and dismissed him with an imperious wave. “You should get going before anyone else wakes up!”

And then she left him to pull on his discarded clothes and make the walk of shame back to his room.

“Thanks a lot,” he muttered to Zepida, whose tail lashed in agitation as they walked. Stupid daemon, always messing things up for him.

“Don’t thank me for anything, you stupid piece of shit. You’re the one who wrecked it.”

Would it be possible to kick her down the hall without causing him more pain? Whatever, it wasn’t worth it. Best to not make a scene, get back to his room and change and “Felix? What are you doing here?!”

“Waiting for you, obviously.” His arms were folded, his nose wrinkled in contempt. Bismalt swam to the edge of his capsule to bump against Zepida’s outstretched nose. “Ugh, you stink of sex. Go to the sauna or something.”

“Good morning to you too, Fee. No, but seriously, what are you doing in my room so early in the morning?

“I got a letter. From your father. You weren’t in your room so the messenger delivered it to me.”

Fuck. Fuck, what bullshit was it this time? “Felix stop dicking around and give me that!” He swiped the letter from Felix’s hands as his best friend beat a hasty retreat towards the open door. Sylvain tore open the letter and scanned it. Then read it again. Then read it a third time, with Zepida reading over his shoulder and reading the words with increasing horror.

Thank the goddess that Felix stuck around, slouched against the doorframe. And thank the goddess that he closed the door so nobody could hear his profanity-laced screams of rage.

* * *

Fish grilled with spices that Dedue hoarded viciously. A stew that Ashe had initially learned in his first parents’ restaurant, but with chunks of venison just as Christophe had suggested. Baked sweets with…was that cinnamon? Perfect to go with tea. Mercedes had suggested that the three of them cook something that was personally important, and then they could all share a lovely meal together.

It was probably some sort of therapy thing, not just the three best cooks in the Blue Lions, possibly the entire school, making a meal together. When Ashe stirred the stew and its flavors mingled with Dedue’s heavily spiced fish and the aroma wafting from the oven, when Fuergios perched sandpiper-shaped on Levia’s horns and Cygnis watched with his tail thumping the ground, it almost reminded him of home. Of Christophe’s pitbull daemon and Lonato’s screech owl.

But Christophe was gone, and so was Lonato—both of his fathers were dead and gone. All that was left of Lonato was the little wooden puzzle box, and a vial of ashes strung to a necklace that rested next to his heart.

How could he ever repay his classmates for what they did?

Either way, this meal, and the conversations they had while making it, brought back sweet memories tinged bitter with tears. Judging by the looks on their faces, Dedue and Mercedes felt the same way.

People in Fodlan prayed to the Goddess before a meal, but that did not happen in Duscur, Dedue had explained as he cooked, standing respectfully several burners away. Ashe was small and nimble enough to get closer without accidentally brushing against Levia’s bulk, but Mercedes was not so fortunate and so had to raise her voice to be heard, or have Cygnis come closer to them and speak for her.

“We would pray to the sea god before fishing, pray to the…farming god before a harvest,” Dedue had said as he added more of a brownish aromatic powder. “To pray afterwards would be redundant. It would feel more like a prayer to the people who made the food and not the gods who allowed the food to happen in the first place.”

“Your beliefs and reasonings sound so different from ours! Please, I would like to hear more.” Cygnis sat close to Levia, close enough for Levia to touch for support if she wanted. Mercedes didn’t sound disgusted, or revolted, or anything like that. She sounded intrigued. He was too; he wanted to hear more about Duscur from one of its own inhabitants, not whatever people in the Church or Kingdom said about Duscurians. The whole eating babies thing was a lie, so what was the actual truth?

But Dedue just looked down at his fish. It was delicious, the skin crispy but the inside moist, seasoned to perfection. Even the presentation was lovely, with little shavings of carrot and parsnip curled into the shape of flowers. “Why? There is no point; Duscur is a ruin.”

Oh.

“They, they couldn’t have killed everyone in Duscur!” Fuergios cried out and _no no no shut up Fuergios!_ Ashe scrambled over to his daemon, flailing to get her off of Levia without actually touching Dedue’s enormous daemon, but it was too late. “Lonato said there were over a million Duscurians; how could the Kingdom have killed all of them?”

Dedue stared at his fish, his breaths deep and deliberately even. Levia answered in a low voice. “They may as well have. The towns are destroyed, the survivors scattered and crammed in slums instead of the mountains and forests of home. I have heard that the churches are taking orphaned Duscurian children, and even those lucky enough to have a surviving parent, and raising them to be good citizens of Faerghus, good servants of the goddess. They have nobody to teach them the words of our gods. When I was a child, I did not pay much attention to the priests. I was going to be a blacksmith, and the incense made my head hurt. But now my village is gone, and I do not even know the prayers of mourning.”

That…that didn’t seem fair, or right at all. The Kingdom and Church took Dedue’s family from him too, and now they were stealing what was left? He…this world would be a lesser one without Dedue’s cooking, or the tales he remembered of his gods. They shouldn’t do that, and by the growl in Cygnis’s voice Mercedes felt the same way.

“I am so sorry, Dedue. Your people were stolen from you. The Kingdom…we stole your people from the world. I can't bring them back, but Dedue, you are still here. I want to hear about your stories, your lands, your culture. They are worth telling, and worth sharing.”

Ashe scrambled to make up for his prior words. “And Dedue, I want to try your food and hear your stories. And I’ll help you find other survivors and learn the words of those prayers! You shouldn’t have had it stolen, but it matters, getting it back!”

“I suppose, if the stories and memories live on, and are shared, then in a sense our loved ones are not fully gone?”

Mercedes smiled and nodded. “That’s what I believe, anyway.” Weren’t these sweets from her fallen noble house? So she sort of understood.

His father and mother, Christophe and Lonato, they were all gone but he was still here. And he had their stories to share and tell.

So they sat there for a while, eating and sharing the stories of loved ones whose presence still lingered. They did this until they heard Sylvain’s raucous shout announce his presence.

“Oh, that smells _divine!_ Say, you got any left for me?”

Sylvain swaggered in, a grin plastered too wide on his face, three angry red lines glaring from one cheek. Zepida sauntered besides him. Her limbs swaggered with every step, her tail quivered upright yet the tip lashed back and forth, and her eyes were wide as could be. She was agitated, looking for a fight. Felix walked beside him, tenseness radiating in every coiled muscle.

“Uh, Sylvain, are you okay?”

“Never better!” That grin was still there, too wide on his face. He swung himself into a chair a few feet away from them and laughed, a feral thing. “Miklan’s really fucked up this time!”

* * *

“Hey, Dorothea?”

“Yes, Bern?” Oh, she was going to murder her excuse for a father. Perhaps if she dropped a few hints to Hubert or Edelgard and they went digging, they could arrange an “unfortunate accident” for him. They definitely seemed like the types who would take a grim pride, if not outright glee, in cleaning up the filth of the upper crust.

“They’re most definitely planning _something_,” Calphour muttered under his breath. Edie had cut short their semi-regular teatime where they would talk about how awful the nobility was and how she was going to fix things once she took the throne to speak privately with Professor Byleth, and Dorothea was fairly sure it wasn’t just to spend time awkwardly flirting with their professor. Although Edie was probably doing that too, because oh the princess had it _bad_.

“Um, remember in the greenhouse, when you asked me if…if I had a crush on someone?” Bernadetta squeaked. “Well…”

Dorothea let out a squeak of her own, her hands flying to her mouth. “Wait, seriously? Ooh, Bern, who is it, who’s the lucky guy? Or girl? Oh, I’m so excited for you!”

Bernadetta blushed into Malecki’s curled-up form and, reminding Dorothea to take a step back. Right, don’t overwhelm her. She waited for Bern to compose herself, tap her fingers together, blush deeply, and finally spill out, “It’s Ferdinand.”

…_What._

Ferdinand? Ferdinand von Aegir, as he so loved to remind people? That loudmouthed pompous hypocrite with the bee daemon? _That _Ferdinand? _That’s _who Bernadetta had a crush on?

_“Oh, no no no, not him,”_ Calphour whispered frantically across their link. _“He’ll just use her and throw her away!”_

Dorothea could still remember that day, the way a much younger Ferdinand had stared at her with chocolate smeared across his face, that burn in his gaze that sent shame running through her. Shame at the simple act of bathing, of being dirty, of being a street rat. And if Ferdie was like that at ten, then how much worse was he at eighteen?

She needed to warn Bern. But…she couldn’t go right out and say it. That would just scare her off.

“Ferdinand? I wouldn’t have expected you to fall for someone with such a…strong force of personality. You’ve got to tell me why.”

And okay, she always loved a good piece of gossip.

“Well, I mean, he’s always so nice and patient with me. We’ve been working in the stables for a few months now, and he’s helped me so much with working with the horses, and how to ride them, and he loves the horses so much it’s adorable to see. He’s never gotten angry or upset with me when I’ve messed up, but he’s taken the time to help me get better. And Dorothea, he really scared me by accident at one point, but after that we talked and he apologized and he asked me what he could do to help not accidentally scare me again and _he’s been doing it!_”

“I know he talks about himself a lot,” Malecki added, “But I think he really wants to help people. He showed me some notes he’s working on about some sort of art program for the people in his territory? Ferdie loves art and he also wants to share it with other people, which I think is just so sweet. And he’s cute!” The last words were muffled, as Malecki curled up in embarrassment.

“Huh. That was…not something I was expecting,” Dorothea said, and she meant every word. Ferdie was a yammering hypocrite but he didn’t seem like the type to pull off an outright deceptive act for that long. Maybe he got a bit of a reality check during those eight-ish years?

She would have had more time to muse on that if Calphour hadn’t spotted another friend. “Oh, Ingrid! How are you doing?” Bernadetta yelped at the sudden intrusion and hid behind a pillar.

Ingrid’s response was to let out a long-suffering sigh. Albarrog looked like he wanted to tear something apart.

“That bad, huh?”

Ingrid’s only response was to hand over a letter. Dorothea quickly scanned it over and…oh dear. It was a marriage proposal. But what was really disturbing was the name attached to it.

“Oh fuck, not this guy,” Calphour muttered.

Albarrog flicked his gaze up to her daemon. “You know him?”

At the same time Ingrid said, “He likely wants my Crest of Daphnel to adorn his family name.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right, the prick.”

“You know him?”

“He tried to court me when I was a singer. Best advice I can give you, Ingrid? Stay far, far away from this guy.” He was one of the worst of the lot. As awful as the younger Ferdinand was, he was _nothing_ compared to this monster in human form. And he dared pursue her Ingrid?!

Ingrid stared at the letter like it was announcing the death of a family member than a possible marriage. “He’s offered a sizable dowry, so I must at least consider it…”

Dorothea and Calphour just let out a bitter bark of a laugh. “Hah! Blood money, that’s all it is.”

“Can we prove it?”

“I don’t want to get married to someone like _him_,” Albarrog added.

“Um,” Bernadetta stepped out from behind the pillar. “I’ve seen Ignatz in archery practice, and his parents are merchants. Maybe he knows how to track down the records and prove it?”

“You can’t get married to someone like him!” Malecki added. “He only wants you for your crest; he’ll, he’ll—!”

“Hey, hey, Bern, it’s okay!” Cethleann’s grace, and Bern had a crest too, didn’t she? “That’s a really good idea. We’ll go track down this bastard, and give him what’s coming!”

* * *

It made sense that Byleth and her students would be entrusted with this mission. After all, most of the knights were away purging the apostates of the Western Church, and she could use the Sword of the Creator. If this Miklan person really was running around with another Relic, well, she remembered just how powerful Thunderbrand was.

_“Purging. What a pretty euphemism,” _Sothis had muttered. The word didn’t sit quite right with Byleth either. Yes, the Western Church had raised a rebellion, and then they broke into the Holy Mausoleum, but…

She shook her head. Right now the mission was what mattered, and making sure her students stayed safe. Besides, she had a request for Archbishop Rhea and Seteth.

Rhea smiled, as serene and trusting as always. “The Crestless cannot unleash the goddess’s power, even if they possess a Relic. Nonetheless, they are still capable of simply wielding these weapons. They are immensely powerful and so we must meet this thread with adequate force. The Sword of the Creator is a powerful weapon, well beyond the other Relics. You have nothing to fear. However, I know how much you care for your students. You are doing an admirable job as a professor. Therefore, to ensure that no harm comes to your students, we will also send one of the monastery’s most skilled individuals to aid you.”

“Thank you.” Even if she could turn back time thanks to Sothis, she would still remember if her students died. Still did. Anything to prevent that from happening again.

Belial was silent, but now they spoke up. “I feel kind of bad for Miklan, if he was disowned just because he didn’t have a crest.” They had a crest, but they spent their whole life not knowing they had one, and it never made a difference. They were the same person last month when they didn’t know than this month when they did.

Seteth flicked his eyes at Rhea. “Regardless of that, he did steal a Hero’s Relic and has been terrorizing the countryside along with his bandits. He is a threat that must be stopped.”

Of course; that part was clear. That was something she knew how to do. Now for the next part. “Archbishop Rhea? I have a request, if it’s okay to ask?”

She blinked; her praying mantis daemon watched impassively from inside his capsule. “Of course, Professor Byleth. What is it?”

“I have been speaking with Edelgard and she wants to start a club to,” how did she put it? “discuss future political and social policy with the future leaders of Fodlan, with an intent to find common ground among all three houses. Would it be possible to start a club, if I’m the adviser?”

Seteth smiled. “I don’t see a problem with that. I think it would be a wonderful way to help forge stronger bonds among the three nations. However, as adviser, you will be responsible for the content of these clubs and meetings, and likewise it will be your duty to prevent and report any subversive activity. In times like this we cannot be too careful.”

That…was more than Byleth was expecting. She nodded, thankful that they had no idea about what she and the house leaders did just a few weeks ago. Besides, Edelgard probably wasn't going to do anything too nuts with it.

Sothis cheered in Byleth’s head. _“Look at you, taking initiative! I knew you had it in you.”_

Rhea placed a hand on her shoulder. That fond smile was still on her face, although Seteth’s appeared to vanish. “You must be rather bewildered by the power that was hidden within. However, know that I believe in you. I have no doubt that you will use that power justly. You will most certainly fulfill the grand destiny that the goddess has seen fit to grant you.”

Grand destiny? But then again, nobody else could turn back time. Maybe she did have a grand destiny. Byleth nodded. She couldn’t let her students, or the archbishop down.

* * *

Shopping bags full of bread, sweets, ingredients for more sweets, adorable clothes, some new makeup, a couple of fascinating little nick-knacks, and a few books swung from Mercedes and Annette’s arms, hung off of Cygnis’s side. Serrin raced back and forth between Annette’s shoulder and Cygnis’s head, happily chittering away. They had completely overdone it on their shopping trip, again, and it was incredible fun.

“We overdid it again, didn’t we Mercie?”

“Maybe, but if we had a good time together and didn’t truly spend more than we could afford, then it was time and money well spent! And I certainly had a good time. Did you?”

“I always have a good time with you!” Annette laughed, sunny and bright, a wellspring of optimism. Mercedes felt rejuvenated just being around her best friend. Annette was a remarkably resilient young woman who managed to stay positive despite the hardships life sometimes brought her, as life always would. She was proud to call Annette her friend.

They continued walking around town, sharing stories about classes or giving advice on spellcasting, or just talking about their school life. More than once she and Annie would break off their conversation to browse some market stall while their daemons would pick up where they left off without missing a beat. It was good to be out in the air like this, outside of the monastery walls every once in a while.

“—So then Felix heard me singing in the greenhouse; and what’s worse, it was the food song! Ugh, I thought I was going to drop dead of embarrassment right then and there!”

Cygnis’s chuckle turned into a mighty yawn halfway through, which Serrin noticed. Annette’s squirrel daemon tapped his ear and asked, “Hey Cyg, you okay?”

His response was to let out a huff and a teasing flick of his ear. “I’m fine, just a bit tired is all. A lot’s been going on lately.”

“Haha, tell me about it. I thought it would be a normal boring year but instead it’s been new professors and weird conspiracies! And, well, you know...”

“I don’t think Sylvain is doing as well as he wants to let on,” Mercedes mused. “He’s a very disingenuous man, and I suspect he’s much more angry and bitter than what he presents to the world. Annette? If Sylvain starts flirting with you, please turn him down. I would be very wary of his intentions.”

Annie flashed her a soft smile. “Ingrid already warned me about Sylvain but if you’re worried then I’ll be super, duper cautious.” Relief flowed through Mercedes; that was all she wanted. Sylvain definitely needed help, but that was no excuse to hurt other people in the meantime, much less himself. Hopefully she could help him see that.

A flick of Cygnis’s tail against her leg jolted her back to the present. Annie was still talking. “...know just how much you’re taking care of us, but please remember to take care of yourself too? You’re my friend, and I care about you.”

“Oh Annie, you’re so sweet. I promise, you won’t have to worry about that.”

Annie smiled, and Cygnis could feel Serrin relax slightly atop his head. “Thanks, Mercie.”

They continued in that amiable silence, two best friends simply spending time together. Until a flash of orange made Cygnis stop. The painted wolf daemon swiveled towards the motion. “Mercedes, look.”

She did, and saw the figure over by a vegetable stall. Square face. Stocky build. Bright orange hair tied back in a low tail. Large red crab daemon. _Oh no._

Annie saw him too. “...Father?” All her purchases clattered against each other as she took off running; a bag of flour bounced out and spilled open against the cobblestones. “Father, it’s me! It’s Annie! I finally found you!”

Serrin lept off Cygnis’s head and bounded after her. “Dad, Flikris, look! Remember when Annie would climb everywhere and you’d call us your little squirrel? Look what I settled as!”

Mercedes approached, a wary sidestep. She watched as Gilbert went still, his daemon—Flikris—freezing midstep. Watched as Gilbert slowly turned, Flikris move to close the gap and his hand hold her in place.

Wished she was astonished at how Gilbert said—no, _lied_—“I am sorry; you must be mistaken. I have no family.”

Annette staggered back as if struck, Gilbert had the audacity to step forward and help her up, and oh that was _it!_ Mercedes raced forward to support her friend, who crumpled in her arms as if she had actually taken a mighty blow, and Cygnis placed himself snarling between Annette and Gilbert. Cygnis was not as large as Belial, but he was still a painted _wolf._

Cygnis snarled, stared Gilbert down just as Mercedes did. “You have no right!”

Gilbert saw them, Annette with her heart carved in two, Mercedes holding the pieces together, and for a moment appeared to be nothing more than a sad old man. “…You’re right. Forgive me.”

And then he walked off. Annette managed to hold it together until he was out of view before collapsing into quiet sobs.

“Annie, I…I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No matter what, please remember that you didn’t deserve it.” Mercedes helped Annie to her feet, quashed the small selfish part of her that worried about getting her essay in on time. That didn’t matter; she could always stay up late to finish it. What did matter was that Annie was in trouble, and needed her help. Her best friend, her classmates, they were all hurting in some way. What kind of person would Mercedes be if she didn’t do everything she could to help them?

* * *

“Hey, you think the Eagles will let me on their mission?” Sylvain’s voice was still sharp and shiny like a shard of broken glass. Zepida paced back and forth, her tail twitching, her eyes and fur both standing on end.

Oh, he hoped the Eagles would let him go with them. He couldn’t wait to see the look on that bastard’s face upon seeing Sylvain in the group sent to take him down.

“Miklan, you’ve fucked up now,” Zepida growled, tail still lashing back and forth. _“Go ask the professor yourself! Or are you afraid you have so little self control that you’ll bury your face in her tits instead of speaking to her like a normal human being?”_

_“That’s not true!”_ But wasn’t it, on some level?

“Sylvain?”

Oh no. That had to be Mercedes. That woman would not let up. And Felix was there too, because of course his oldest and closest friend wouldn’t take his smiling lies at face value. Thank goodness Ingrid’s attention was split between him and whatever she was doing with Dorothea, because there was no way she bought it either.

Everyone in the Lions had checked in on him once the news of Miklan and the lance came out. They’d be checking in on each other a lot lately, since Lonato. It had been Mercedes who spearheaded the effort and did the bulk of the work, of course. Sylvain liked Mercedes, but he was also a little afraid of her. She was sweet, she was kind, she was gorgeous, she had made peace with her past in a way that poured an acid burn in his chest, and she was uncannily perceptive. She had this preternatural ability to see right through you and go straight for the throat.

_“She going to show Felix just what a piece of shit you are? Joke’s on her; he already knows and yet he’s still here for some reason.”_

_“Mercedes wouldn’t be here for that!”_

“Sylvain?” Mercedes had plopped down on a seat across from him, close enough to be intimate but far enough away for him not to feel trapped. Cygnis laid down, seemingly comfortable yet with his gaze still alert and trained on him. Felix was not nearly so careful in his movements and so slouched with folded arms and a scowl. Still, Bismalt seemed to move faster in his capsule. “I’m sure this must be very difficult. Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“I’m fine, really.” He laughed again, shiny and bitter. “Honestly, this was a long time coming. And it’s not like this is anything new.”

All of which was true. Miklan was a fucking asshole made of bitterness, jealousy, rage, and impulsivity; it was only a matter of time before he did something this stupid and got himself killed for it. And it’s not like asshole family members were a rarity here. This was the Blue Lions after all; with the glaring exception of Ingrid everyone’s family was either dead or dead to them.

So Sylvain was fine. He was absolutely, completely fine. Could they stop asking him if he was fine?

That’s what he said, and Mercedes smiled in that knowing way while Felix just scoffed. “I’m asking the professor if we can both go on the mission,” he said in a tone that brokered no argument. “Come find me when you’re ready to be an adult and talk about how you really feel.”

And then he stalked off, leaving Sylvain with Mercedes and her expectant smile and her endless patience and her cutting gaze.

Zepida stared down Cygnis, her tail drumming an irregular beat on the wooden table. _“I bet she can see just how much of a piece of shit you are. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that, brushing off Felix and Ingrid like that? They’re the only two people in the world who put up with your garbage, and you brush them off like that? How long before they get fed up and walk away too?”_

_“They’re Felix and Ingrid, they won’t—“_

_“—Yes they will! Sooner or later you’ll drive them away and then you’ll be all alone. Which you deserve, you worthless whore. Everywhere you go you hurt people!”_

_“That’s not true!”_

_“Oh yeah? What about the girls you fuck and dump? What about Ingrid who has to clean up after you? What about Ashe? What kind of example are you setting?”_

_“What does this have to do with Miklan?! Shut up!”_

Zepida hissed and hopped off the table to crouch and stare at Cygnis. The painted wolf daemon didn’t move, didn’t even twitch those huge round ears of his.

“If you need to talk, or ask for advice, or anything, I’m here for you.”

Just what had Mercedes seen in the church? What had she seen before the crests ruined her life as well? Did she see people even worse, even more wretched than him?

Mercedes saw right through him, but she still didn’t really know him. Didn’t know how awful Miklan was, didn’t know just how awful _he_ was. Didn’t know all the rough and jagged edges, those open sores the way that Felix and Ingrid and even Dimitri did. Didn’t know why he could never, ever ask Felix these things that would scratch at those bleeding wounds.

“Mercedes?” he asked, in a voice surprisingly small for how bitter it was, “What’s it like to have a brother who loves you?”

* * *

It was dusk, and everyone who had an ounce of sense in their heads had gone back to their dormitories to study for certification exams and possibly sleep. And grunts and the sound of metal against wood still echoed from the training grounds. Felix didn’t want to know what dragons might be in the boar’s head but there certainly wasn’t any sense in there.

“Hey! Boar!”

The actual boar turned to look at him. The one wearing his former friend’s skin didn’t stop stabbing the training dummies, but he did slow down in acknowledgement of Felix’s presence. “Felix, are you here to train as well?”

Felix gritted his teeth, but his fingers curled around Bismalt’s capsule. How dare this mockery of Dimitri talk to him with that voice, with those earnest blue eyes?! “I don’t make a habit of talking to beasts. I’m here to let you know that Sylvain and I are joining the Black Eagles to take down Miklan. That’s it. I’m going to get some fresh air. Remember what that is?”

Now the boar prince saw fit to put down his lance. “Felix, I...thank you for telling me. And thank you for going with Sylvain on this mission. Edelgard and the Black Eagles are lovely people, to be sure, but your presence will—"

Felix held up a hand. “Shut it. I don’t want to hear it. I’m going now, but just a word of advice, boar. The goddess gave us daemons for a reason, so we have someone to talk to and keep us from going mad with isolation. You should speak with her some time, if you can talk about anything other than bloodlust.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

Bismalt made sure they were out of earshot before asking, “What about Sylvain and Zepida?”

“That’s something else entirely.” And yet just as scary, in his own way. He wished...he just...it...

“Goddess damn it all. I can’t wait to take out that bastard,” Felix muttered, storming off.

Dimitri didn’t even wait for Felix’s form to vanish into the evening shadows before turning back to the training dummies. The lance tore into leather and straw, and Dimitri tried to imagine that they were the bodies of the ones who massacred his family instead.

It only helped a little bit.

He could hear the scuffling noise behind him as Delcabia opened her mouth to speak, and he interrupted whatever she was about to say with a raised hand. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t need to hear whatever she had to say. He didn’t need to see his fathers’s ghostly hands clawing at her bristles either.

“I’m working on it!” He growled. Another swing of the lance, another crack as it splintered in his hands. He pitched the broken weapon aside and pulled out another one. “Just, give me time...”

Delcabia said nothing, and thankfully the ghosts stayed silent for the time being as well. She sat at the very edge of their range and watched as Dimitri trained late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Miklan.
> 
> If Sylvain seems more openly worse, it’s because in a daemon AU the self loathing and self-destructive part of him is not a whisper in the back of his skull but walking around in the shape of a cat, actually berating him and capable of clawing his face.
> 
> We’ve seen mostly healthy human-daemon relationships. What’s an _unhealthy_ one like? 
> 
> As we close out the year, I just want to say thank you to Nintendo and IntSys for making such an amazing game. I'm a FE veteran, and this game knocked it out of the part. Thank you to all the fans that I met and foamed at the mouth about ships and theories with. And I want to thank you, the readers, so much for hanging on to every word of my crazed AU that I scramble for my phone in the shower for. You're incredible, every last one of you. I hope to see you guys in 2020, and who knows what may happen beyond that?
> 
> Humans and daemons in this chapter:  
Gilbert and Flikris (female red king crab)


	11. Miklan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What kind of gift would do something like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient. This month has been and will continue to be absolute hell; I had an interview in Texas last week and I have, I kid you not, 17 hour shifts every. Other. Day. For the _entire_ month. I haven't even had a chance to reply to comments! In the end I needed to get this chapter up in a reasonable timeframe to maintain momentum. And there's still parts of it that frustrate me. Ah well. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings: Sylvain and his A+ coping mechanisms (including alcohol abuse and sexual content).

Well, the Goddess certainly knew how to set the mood. The rain came down in thick sheets, turning the sky a greenish-gray and the ground to a thick muddy slop. Mud tracked up everyone’s shoes and kicked up as they walked, coating the backs of everyone’s legs. They were forced to abandon the horses and make the rest of the way to the tower on food. The rain plastered everyone’s hair to their heads, soaked through clothes, ran into scabbards and spellbooks and socks. Only the fact that it was a _warm_ rain kept it “merely” intolerable instead of a living hell.

In other words, it was the perfect weather for hunting down some bandits and killing Sylvain’s shitstain of a brother.

“I can’t wait to take down that rat bastard,” Bismalt muttered in his capsule. “He’s had this a long time coming, everything he’s done to Sylvain…”

Felix sighed. “Bis, not that I don’t agree, but keep it to yourself, okay?”

“Why? Its true, and Sylvain seems fine about it.” Indeed, Sylvain was chatting with Edelgard. Surprisingly enough, he seemed to be restraining himself. At least, Felix assumed that was the case because although Hubert was hovering nearby like a particularly hungry vulture, Edelgard’s creepy vassal hadn’t blasted Sylvain yet.

“Sylvain’s very good at seeming.”

What could he do? What else could Felix and Bismalt do beyond what they were doing right here and now, marching alongside Sylvain and the Black Eagles in the storm? How much did they understand the personal history here, or was it just another job for their mercenary-turned-professor?

A flash of orange in his vision, and Felix’s ire quickly latched onto a new and much more deserving target. He jogged up to Gilbert—Macuil’s ire, he hoped he’d rust himself in that armor, he deserved worse—and growled, _“You.”_

The older man (and his face was grizzled chiseled and wrinkled and his hair was streaked with gray but the same color as Annette’s. The blue of his eyes, the hue of his skin, both of them were exactly the same as hers) looked down (not up) at him with soft blue eyes. “Ah, you must be Fraldarius’s son. Felix, was it? I’m surprised to see you on this mission. You are still part of the Blue Lions, are you not?”

Hypocrite, hypocrite, just another sad old man who chose to enslave himself, Felix wanted to vomit at the sight of him, wanted to punch him in the face. “So’s your daughter. Remember her? Because Annette hasn’t forgotten you.”

Gilbert’s crab daemon scuttled under his armor, but her likeness was still carved into the steel, and Bismalt still glared at it in absolute disgust. Gilbert merely closed his eyes. “I do not deserve to see her, not after—”

“No. No you don’t. You don’t deserve Annette, you don’t deserve her forgiveness, you don’t deserve to be anywhere _near_ her! And not for whatever bullshit Duscur-related excuse you’re about to spout. You don’t deserve to be anywhere near her because you abandoned her! Gilbert, or whatever you’re calling yourself nowadays, you got so wrapped up in your guilt or self-pity or I don’t actually fucking care that you forgot about _your own fucking wife and daughter_, who are alive and actually needed you! You’re nothing but a selfish bastard who’s more interested in feeling sorry for himself and chasing ghosts than helping people who are actually alive and need you!”

And then Felix stormed off. He didn’t want to hear whatever self-pitying bullshit Gilbert had to say. He felt a little better, but Bismalt was still darting back and forth in his capsule, fins shimmering in the water. The tempest still raged inside Felix. Rage and a twisting clawing feeling that made him want to scream and cry. Anger at a broken world and broken friends, grief for everything, rage at that glorified death cult everyone in Faerghus called chivalry. Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. Chivalry was nothing more than a pack of lies that glorified death and dying and killing over actually doing something for people who were actually alive. The dead couldn’t speak, couldn’t wish, couldn’t dream. They were _gone_. And to worship them over the living?

Any word other than “bullshit” would boil down to the same thing in the end.

He made his way back to Sylvain, whose was displaying an impressive amount of self-control in his conversation with Edelgard, if the fact that Hubert still hadn’t murdered him was any indication. They were going over the internal plans of the tower while standing a safe spot from the structure. Professor Byleth was discussing plans of attack while her…while oh shit it was true; Belial must have been scouting because they _were not there._ Sure, the professor had warned him and Sylvain beforehand, and he’d heard the rumors that had swept through the monastery, but it was another thing entirely to actually see a living human being without their daemon.

Felix opened the lid of the capsule and dipped his fingers in the water for Bismalt to swim up against. His scales were smooth against the rough pads of his fingertips. “That’s not right,” he muttered.

His gaze slid from Belial (how did the Eagles ever get used to that sight?) to Sylvain, who was speaking with a too-easy smile but with his eyes specifically trained on Edelgard, not Byleth.

“My apologies, Sylvain. I know this must be emotionally painful for you. Whatever his tactical acumen might be, his crimes against you and the general populace must not go unanswered.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me twice. Edelgard, Professor Byleth, thanks again for letting me and Felix go on this mission. After everything he’s done I need to see the end of this myself.”

Zepida lashed her tail back and forth. “Sure he could have been a good military leader, but that didn’t happen, now did it?”

Belial returned, their fur soaking wet and blending into the grayness of the stormy landscape, the rain masking the sound of their footfalls. Both Sylvain and Felix relaxed slightly—Edelgard must have been used to it, somehow—and that was as good a time as any to walk in.

“Sylvain.”

“Gah!”

“You ready for this?”

“Of course I’m ready. I’ve been ready for this since the mountainside. Or the well. Or, well…”

Of course Sylvain was going to say that, and he was smiling. He was smiling so widely that Felix’s cheeks hurt just looking at him. Bismalt pressed a fin against the capsule, and Zepida responded with a paw to the cool glass. “When you’re ready just let me know.”

* * *

The lance was twitching. The lance was _fucking twitching_.

Miklan was screaming out orders above the din of battle and his bandit lackeys were fanatically loyal to an extent that Byleth had not seen in some time. There were reinforcements pouring in to the point where the rear lines nearly got overwhelmed and Belial had to split off so they could attack on two fronts. Dorothea was out on an emergency mission with Ingrid, Linhardt was working himself to exhaustion with long-range healing spells, and Sylvain and Felix were not quite fighting in synchronization the way that her eagles had been learning to do.

Her students really had been learning well. They fought in much more harmonious concert then that first fight a few long months ago. Caspar was at Linhardt’s side as he cast and healed his injured classmates; anybody who thought him an easy mark would be instantly tackled and pummeled. Petra was slightly out of step without Dorothea’s magic, but she was the swiftness to complement her and Edelgard’s strength, and she was also fast enough to slip into the fray wherever she was needed. Somehow, Ardior managed to keep himself inconspicuous until the last minute. Bernadetta and Ferdinand were rarely far from each other; much like Linhardt and Caspar he defended her from anybody who dared close into melee, and even when many closed in on Ferdinand and Bernadetta at once they always did so feathered with arrows, or smoking from a spell that Hubert cast. His hands glowed with greasy magic; he and Thanily cackled in malicious glee at any particularly strong hit. She and Sothis could not help but feel the surge in pride at how her students had grown.

As for Byleth herself, this was the first she had used the sword in combat for an extended period of time, and it…it really felt like an extension of herself. When the blade extended into the whip and those barbed fragments, and she lashed it forward, it was like she attacking with her own bare hands or claws.

She felt more connected with the sword than she did to her own daemon.

And now they had turned the corner, had directly engaged Milkan and that stolen lance, and _the lance was fucking twitching._

_“What kind of sacred relic twitches?”_ Sothis shouted in her head, giving commentary whenever she wasn’t keeping another set of eyes out for her students. _“Seriously, I haven’t seen many supposedly sacred items but generally something that’s holy is NOT supposed to twitch!”_

Sylvain was locked in combat with his older scarred brother, his face set in a snarl, Zepida’s fur standing on end as she tried again and again to grab Miklan’s foul-tempered Almyran hamster daemon off of him without actually touching Miklan himself. Miklan was lost in fury at the sight of his younger brother, and the things he said were…

“Shut up!” Sylvain cried out, parrying that horrible twitching lance with his normal dinged-up steel one. “I’m tired of you blaming me for things that aren’t my fault! I’m tired of you—ugh!”

Zepida had lept for Miklan’s daemon again, but this time Miklan had caught her in the chest with a sweep of his lance. She yowled in pain and bounced across the room, forcing Sylvain to his knees and scrambling after her as she skidded to a stop inches from the wall.

Miklan’s armor clanked as he approached, his face twisted into a feral snarl as his armor clanked with every step of his approach. That lance twitched faster, as if eager for the promise of more blood to feast upon. Sylvain turned around, his back flush against one of the inner walls of the tower.

“How do you like being on the receiving end for once?” Miklan’s daemon taunted to Zepida and Sylvain alike.

Miklan raised his lance. “Why don’t you be a good little brother for once in your life, and die for me!”

_“Byleth!”_

_I’m on it, Sothis! _She reached within, prepared for the world to shatter as she walked back time, let it be before Sylvain’s life spilled on the ground and Zepida faded away—

—The lance _pulsed_. Something dark began to ooze from between the wiggling pieces.

“What the…?”

The rest of her students had caught up, which meant that everyone got a front-row seat to what happened next. 

Reddish-black ichor shot out of the lance, almost what dried blood would look like if it had a shape and form, and wound its way up Miklan’s hand, wrist, arm, torso.

“What—what the--?!”

Sylvain scrambled away and to his feet. He held Zepida close, could do nothing but watch in terror as Miklan was slowly consumed. Whatever substance oozed out of the lance kept working up and down his body, up his torso, down his legs, up his neck. The pulsing tendrils of ichor crawled over his face, and as Miklan screamed in terror and agony they wormed into his mouth, his nose, his eyes.

Miklan’s daemon jumped off him, her eyes wide as she tried to run away. That dark energy swept over the hamster, pulsed, and flattened out. She was gone.

“K-Kilkari!” Sylvain was silent, his eyes wide. Zepida, and nearly everyone in her class whether human or daemon, screamed.

Kilkari was gone, and so was Miklan. Even the screaming had been consumed. All that was left was a writhing mass of…of what looked like thick worms made of bloody meat, shifting and oozing and _growing_.

Until the ooze was sucked into…into…

The thing that used to be Miklan was a black beast, vaguely lizard-like but many times larger than even Levia. Too many fangs jutted from the beast’s mouth, and spikes that looked almost like enlarged versions of those twitching protrusions of the lance jutted from its back. It looked twisted, warped, and writhed in agony. One hapless bandit who was too frozen in terror to flee was torn in half for his trouble, got to see his lower half disappear down the throat of the thing that used to be Miklan before the rest of him, still screaming, followed. It took too long for his daemon, trapped outside the beast, to fade away. 

Carved into its forehead was the Crest of Gautier.

Sothis was still and quiet in Byleth’s mind. After a moment she heard her mutter, _“That beast, and that crest…”_

“This…Miklan, what is this?!” Sylvain muttered. Zepida was whimpering, pressing into him as far away from the beast as possible. “This is like a bad dream come to life.”

The beast that was once Milkan roared and lunged, and Felix just barely managed to dodge in time. Sylvain was not so lucky.

Those wicked claws tore Sylvain open, rending through armor and flesh like butter. His insides spilled out onto the ground, and he collapsed, bleeding out.

“SYLVAIN!”

Felix’s cry of anguish shattered mid-syllable as Byleth, Sothis, and Belial pulled back the threads of time. Belial huffed as time resumed.

“This…Miklan, what is this?!” Sylvain muttered. Zepida was whimpering, pressing into him as far away from the beast as possible. “This is like a bad dream come to life.”

The Sword of the Creator whipped out and lashed across the black beast’s face and split its cheek open. It roared in agony and reared back.

“Get up, you idiot!” Felix dashed into the provided opening, pulled Sylvain to his feet, and retreated.

_“That beast has an armored shell around it! It will get more powerful the more it’s hurt, so take it down fast and don’t put anybody squishy nearby. You see that glow in the back of its mouth? It can breathe fire over a wide radius so get ready to dodge!”_

_Sothis, how do you know all this?_

_“If you have time to talk, you have time to fight! Go keep our pups safe!”_

As always, Byleth inserted herself into the ebb and flow of battle, and it was Belial who barked orders.

“Edelgard, Ferdinand…Sylvain, to me! Stay close to me, get its ankles, and get ready to dodge! Linhardt, you’re on healing duty! Petra, Caspar, Felix, hit and run tactics only—don’t get hit, and don’t get cocky, that means you Caspar! Bernadetta, Hubert, stay back and stick to range attacks; go for the eyes!”

And they did. Her eagles barely needed the instructions at this point. She and Edelgard and even Ferdinand covered for each other, fought in synchrony, in a way which showed Sylvain awkwardly sticking out, a half-step behind for all he fought with power and fear and an inner anger.

Petra, Caspar, and Felix were small and fast. They could duck under those huge and wicked claws, slice at the more vulnerable tendons and underbelly, and get back out before the beast could turn underneath and attack. All the while there was a nonstop barrage of spell and arrow from above. No sooner would Bernadetta fire an arrow and reload than Hubert would cast a spell. And by the time Hubert moved to recharge his magic, Bernadetta was ready to fire another arrow.

But as the beast that was once Miklan roared in pain and dark blood oozed from its wounds, it seemed to move faster, and it struck out with more force. It then reared back, flames curling at the corners of its mouth.

Edelgard and Ferdinand were slightly stronger than Byleth, but she was slightly faster. The beast reared back and she_ knew_ they would not be able to dodge in time.

_“They’ll survive, dung-for-brains; get out of the way!”_

_No! What kind of teacher would I be if I left them?_

Even though she and Belial were able to separate, they _couldn’t…_

Before Belial knew it, she had tackled Edelgard to the ground as Felix dragged Sylvain to a slightly safer spot by his collar. She closed her eyes, prepared to turn back time again, stupid why did she go for Edelgard, she couldn’t see or hear Ferdinand die again—

—A flash of a crest. A blur of purple. Bernadetta, screaming, “GET BACK!” burst out from behind the impromptu ramparts to tackle Ferdinand in turn. Malecki curled up, quivering in terror as they braced themselves for the flames.

They never came. There was another flash of dark magic, a shout of, “You will not touch Lady Edelgard!” from several feet away, and Hubert rammed a bolt of dark magic straight down the beast’s throat. It shrieked, high and unearthly, and collapsed.

And then dissolved—no, melted—like snow in the sun. All that was left was Miklan’s corpse. Miklan, and the lance.

Byleth found herself gazing into Edelgard’s wide lilac eyes and furiously pink face. Avarine froze under Belial’s paws, her beak hanging open.

“I, um,” She and Edelgard scrambled off and away from each other. Behind her Bernadetta frantically babbled apologies to Ferdinand as she did the same thing. Hubert was already there, pulling Edelgard to her feet and checking her over for injuries while Thanily glared daggers at Belial.

_“And just where were you a moment ago, rat boy?”_ Sothis shouted in her head. _“Some bodyguard you tout yourself as being when you’re all the way in back. What was it you said to Byleth about serving the emperor at all costs? I thought you’d use every tool at your disposal!”_ She continued that rant for some time, all the while carefully locking away just what she, they, everyone had just seen.

The Black Eagles, Felix, and Sylvain collected themselves one way or another, tallied injuries and held their daemons close. Linhardt pressed his face into Runilite’s plush fur coat. Caspar plunged his hand into his backpack just to feel Peakane’s form. Many students and their daemons were whimpering. A few were outright crying.

Belial crossed the space between the students and Miklan. They picked up the still-twitching lance and returned to Byleth, who was still standing there.

Sylvain hadn’t moved either. He held Zepida, and held her as they looked down at the body of their tormentor and older brother in silence. Felix, one hand clenched around Bismalt’s capsule, sidled up next to his friend. Sylvain didn’t lean into the contact, but he didn’t run away either. He said something, but Byleth could only hear the last few words.

“Miklan…my brother.”

* * *

That fucking lance was still twitching. It wasn’t even a consistent movement either; it would be less disturbing if it was as rhythmic as a metronome. Nope, those claw-like protrusions would instead stay deceptively still, then out of the corner of his eye jerk and spasm like a half-squashed bug. Every time Sylvain looked at it he was dragged back to a battlefield years ago where he saw a man take a war hammer to the head. He had dropped like a stone, just crumpled to the ground as his daemon suddenly went glassy-eyed and simultaneously collapsed. The poor man’s head was visibly dented with bits of brain oozing out from the smashed-in bit of skull, but his body had spasmed and contorted in an unnatural way. The man’s limbs twitched and jerked while he gasped like a fish even after his daemon had faded away.

And if it wasn’t that sight, it was the memory of the lance turning on Miklan, devouring his shithead brother _it’s my fault he’s a shithead I made him do that to me shut up shut up I was a kid!_

Zepida’s claws twitched. She wanted nothing more than to tear that Lance apart, but the pieces would probably still twitch like a severed lizard’s tail. And it was the Lance of Ruin. It was his now. And it _fucking ate Kilkari!_

_He had it coming, piece of garbage. _

_Not even he deserved that. _

Sure he had the Gautier Crest, he was safe, but...

But.

Sylvain took another swig of whiskey and stared down the lance. It went still, and then jerked again. Sylvain hurled the flask to the floor where it left a small but visible dent in the wood.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he muttered, storming out of his room and slamming the door behind him. He heard the clatter of the Lance falling to the ground, then the occasional faint clicks of those spike things as they randomly twitched and tapped the floorboards.

“Hey, we should go pick that up,” Zep hissed. She was right. They should. It was a Hero’s Relic, his family’s relic, passed down through generations of Gautiers, was responsible for defending the borders of the good and chivalrous Holy Kingdom of Faerghus against the barbarian hordes of Sreng. Where the people were uncouth, unwashed, feral. The people of Sreng and Duscur and everywhere outside Fodlan were little more than barbarians. They married for such base things as love, not the noble preservation of family lines. Certainly not for goddess-blessed crest babies. The goddess never cursed them with the gift of crests. Savages, that’s what they were, nothing more. They weren’t blessed with animated Relics that moved like a dying man and bore such auspicious names as Crusher, or the Lance of Ruin.

The cool night air, a promise of the upcoming fall, briefly stirred Sylvain from his drunken haze. The shops in the market had closed for the night; he was already halfway to town.

_What do you think you’re doing, you idiot? Go back to bed, you’re the only Gautier son now!_

He staggered into the bar.

_I can’t believe you’re getting drunker!_

He sat down at the bar; flopped back onto the stool more than anything else. Zep curled up at his feet, her fur and ears smoothed flat.

_One drink._

Sylvain blinked, and found himself several hours and glasses later pawing at some woman with long dark hair and too much lipstick that she smeared all over his face and neck with sloppy drunken kisses. Her daemon was some small mouse or vole thing, soft and compliant under Zep’s aggressive grooming. She kissed him all the way upstairs, and her daemon was still limp and relaxed as Zep carried him in her mouth.

_Look at yourself you insatiable pervert, going to stick your dick in something again. How about you do something constructive for a change? Or at least if you’re going to whore yourself out like the glorified studhorse you are, might as well charge for it! Jerk off in a bottle, find some magic to preserve it, and sell it by the ounce, turkey baster included. Think we’ll have enough to pay child support? At least we have an easy way to test for crests and not deal with failures like Miklan after!_

Sylvain kissed her harder, and her daemon squirmed in Zep’s mouth. That shut the stupid cat up.

Sylvain turned back to the girl and pressed her closer. Lost himself in the wet heat of her mouth and in between her legs until his hand came away slick and she was begging for it _for a crest baby for status shut up shut up! _and his own need pressed urgently against his trousers. Bent her over the bed _she wants this she’s wet and she wants it, it it isn’t—I’m not—I’m not like—_, rucked up her skirt, and fucked her into the mattress. Came on her back and in her long dark hair. Passed out somewhere in the middle of her fury.

He dreamt of demonic babies with no daemon in sight, black scales and twitching spines in place of smooth skin, biting at their mothers’ breasts.

* * *

“Ferdinand, take a deep breath. If we unload all our concerns at once it will only serve to frighten her off.”

He took a deep breath, just as he tried to teach Bernadetta to do. But it barely touched the fluttering deep in his chest. If this was how she felt all the time, well...she certainly was a strong woman to push herself regardless. And foolish, to throw herself into danger like she did against that _thing_ which was once Miklan. Is that what demonic beasts were? Crestless humans unlucky enough to come in contact with a Hero’s Relic, only to have their form warped and their daemon devoured and every part of them twisted into a monstrosity to the point where death was a release?

Embrienne shuddered against the palm of Ferdinand’s hand. That was the worst thing they had ever seen in their entire life. “Why did Archbishop Rhea forbid us from discussing what the Lance of Ruin did to Miklan?”

“Likely because the knowledge would spark a panic. Given the Western Church revolts, it would not do to introduce more instability at this time.” He turned and paced the length of the grassy corridor once more.

“That may be, but the potential danger to the public is just as immediately pressing. Perhaps even more so, given that there have been reports of demonic beasts prowling the wildernesses of Fodlan for centuries.” Another lap back and forth in front of Bernadetta’s room. The door was closed but he knew she was inside.

“Releasing such information must be done cautiously, not in a fit of rebellious pique! Not to mention, the Knights of Seiros would trace such a dissemination back to us. The punishment for disobeying a direct command from Archbishop Rhea would be most dire indeed.” He did not even want to think about the potential consequences.

“Ferdinand that was not my suggestion and you know it.” With each word, Embrienne bumped against Ferdinand’s nose for emphasis. “You are stalling, trying to get us off topic. We need to talk with Bernadetta about what happened.”

He knew that. How could she put herself in such peril for him? She was safe fighting at range alongside Hubert. True, Bernadetta was faster than him, but he was sturdier and more able to withstand a blow. More importantly, just the thought of Bernadetta injured—especially while protecting him—made Ferdinand want to vomit. It was almost too terrible to contemplate. But if he just ran into her room beside himself with worry it would only serve to terrify the young woman. Ferdinand had tried to talk to Dorothea about it; the songstress had been spending more time with Bernadetta as of late and might have some useful advice. But she was out on some sort of mission with Ingrid, and when she got back, well.

One look at her face and the question died on his lips. Her facade of coolly distant disdain was gone, replaced with blazing eyes and a tight jaw. Calphour’s feathers were puffed up, turning him into a tiny ball of rage. All Ferdinand did was stand in front of her and she held up a hand in his face.

“Just, don’t.”

Calphour had to finish for her. “Ferdie, I know you’re trying, or as much as you’re able to, and that you’re more of an ignorant buffoon than actively malicious. But I swear to the Saints, if I have to see your smug noble face that has seen nothing but benefit from the system for one more minute, I might actually punch it in.”

Dorothea then stalked off towards Ingrid’s room, practically shoving him aside without even a clipped apology. Ferdinand wisely took the hint and did not pursue. However, that left him to figure out how to speak with Bernadetta alone. It should have been easy, but for some reason every time he saw her this past week he remembered the feel of her weight on him and her face so close and it was if someone reached inside his chest, wrapped a hand around his heart, and _squeezed_. It was a shameful display of temerity that Ferdinand thought he had conquered long ago.

“We are Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir,” she said, hovering by his ear. “We can do this.”

Ferdinand’s fist hung suspended mid-air above the door. He could _feel_ Embrienne roll her eyes seconds before she said, “Bernadetta?”

“Eep! N-nobody’s home!” Silence, then a more hesitant, “Embry? Ferdie, are you—stupid Bernie of course Ferdie’s there...”

“May I come in?” As nervous as he was, hearing Bernadetta berate herself was worse.

“Uh, yeah, sure, that’s okay!” she squeaked.

Bernadetta’s room was cluttered but relatively neat, with an oversized plushie bear by the desk and a couple of odd-looking plants—one real, one plushie—resting on the windowsill. Bernadetta fidgeted with Malecki’s quills, her face bright pink for some reason. Even when he left the door a crack open—a noble must avoid any implication of scandal, after all!—she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I-Is this about the fight against that monster thing Miklan turned into? Because that was…that was awful!” She held Malecki to her face.

“It was quite a horrific sight. But Bernadetta, if it was so horrific then, well I was quite surprised to see you leaping into the fray. Particularly to knock me out of the way of a blow.” His voice sped up, impassioned. Embrienne started headbutting his neck, attempting to get his attention, but it was too late. He was off. “Why did you do that, Bernadetta? You are faster and more dexterous than me to be sure, but I am more physically durable. You put yourself in unnecessary danger and—”

“Ferdinand—”

“I cannot stand to see you hurt. Simply the thought of it is a greater pain than whatever injury that beast could have inflicted upon me! You—”

“Ferdinand!”

That shut him up. His mouth actually snapped shut under Bernadetta’s trembling gaze. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, closed her eyes, and then spoke.

“Ferdinand, I did it because...because I don’t want to see you hurt either. I didn’t even think about it, but I’d...even if I was, I’d do it again. If it meant you’d be safe. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone, you know that, right?”

Ferdinand heard the words, but they did not register. _Preposterous. Bernadetta could not possibly mean…what I think she means._

_But what if she does?_

A noble should be discreet. A noble should speak with careful language. A noble must maintain proper rituals of courtship.

Embrienne buzzed over to Malecki and bumped her fussy head against his paw. Bernadetta turned to Ferdinand, and his heart surged at the sight of her expression of joyous shock and disbelief.

* * *

Summer did not officially end until partway through the Horsebow Moon. Although the nights were starting to cool off the days were still pleasantly warm, warm enough that letting ones’ feet trail in the pond was refreshing and not painful. It was still a bad idea in this circumstance though, given that Byleth and Jeralt were crabbing in the pond, and were liable to receive a nasty pinch if they didn’t stay on the docks.

Jeralt drew in the line; two crabs were firmly attached to a slightly-rotten drumstick, fighting over the choicest bits. He pried them off and tossed them into the bucket. Domaghar sniffed the bucket, sneezed at the strong smell of the crabs. It would have been easy for them to escape, if only they didn’t keep pulling each other down. 

“You know, I’ve only ever gone fishing with you,” Jeralt said as he tossed the drumstick back into the water where it sank with an unceremonious _plop._ “No, wait, we did go crabbing once. It was…yeah, it was at the beach in a village near Deirdru."

“We did?”

_“I don’t remember doing such a thing. And there’s no way I’d forget how bad this bait smells. Who decided to lug around rotten meat as crab bait anyway? Or decided to eat something that eats rotten meat? Honestly, sometimes I just don’t understand you humans.”_

Her father’s smile went soft around the edges, and for some reason Domaghar’s nuzzle between Belial’s ears was more obviously affectionate instead of their normal roughhousing. “Yeah. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were about eight or so.”

Eight or…Oh. “Was it one of the Bad Days?”

A nod from her father, more of a quick jerk of the head really, and his voice was suddenly rough for some reason. “You just held the crabbing rod and stared at the water. Wouldn’t respond to anything, no matter what I tried to say or how many crabs pulled at the bait. Some kid ran up all barefoot and sunburned and wanted to play tag with you. You just stood there…I don’t even know if I can call it confused, because confused is still an emotion.”

“Don’t,” Doma nickered. “What’s done is done. Don’t dwell on it, Jeralt. Look at Byleth and Belial now.”

_“Is that what the Bad Days were like? I would remember if you stood there like a puppet. How did your father stand it?”_

He pulled in the line again—empty this time—and cast it further out into the pond. “You’ve really started to open up. I’ve seen you around the other students, especially Edelgard. “Which dream has it been since you started, the battle or the girl?”

_“Wait, what?”_ Sothis did the mental equivalent of a mid-air trip in her head. _“The flashes of you I had in my sleep, that was you dreaming of me? And that was when you were actually a person?”_

“It’s been the girl,” Belial said as Byleth pulled in a couple more crabs. That was technically true. Somehow Belial got the feeling that telling the full story, that the girl was named Sothis and she was now awake and following them around and talking to them in their heads and that she was surprisingly snarky would lead to more trouble than it was worth.

_“Thank goodness; you’re actually capable of learning something!”_

Doma flicked her tail against Belial’s flank. “Well thank you, mysterious girl in my daughter’s dreams, for giving her the Good Days.”

_“You’re very welcome, alcoholic mercenary dad who’s the most reasonable adult in this entire joint.”_ Sothis gave a not-entirely-mocking bow before settling back into what would be a reclining position. _“But this is so strange. It seems that, to put it simply, you are only awake when I am awake.”_

Byleth looked down at the sword. The line wobbled in her hand as a crab took the bait. _“I wonder why that is.”_

Sothis and the sword. The Good Days and the Bad Days. Belial, their distance, and her own stilled heart now slowly filling with what had to be warmth and love. They had to be connected, somehow.

A sudden weight clapped down on her shoulder—her father’s arm, wrapped around her in a one-handed hug. “Hey, kid, I’m proud of you.”

And for the first time Byleth realized what her father was trying to say. “Love you too, dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I think things will get a bit brighter from here on out? I've got a lot of content planned for the next few weeks, including the next chapter and some side stories! As a thank you for being so patient the working titles for the first three of these pieces are as follows: Royal Studbooks, How To Date An Agoraphobe, and Haribon.
> 
> By the way, my reaction to seeing the Lance of Ruin for the first time was approximately as follows: "UM. That's BONE. That's _animated bone_ I am a veterinarian I know what bone looks like AND THAT'S FUCKING ANIMATED BONE. This is the work of a necromancer, not a gift from a benevolent deity!"
> 
> And yes, Miklan's daemon was a Syrian (Almyran) hamster. Those little rodents are actually highly aggressive and have a notoriously nasty temper!
> 
> Also, I am participating in this year's Fandom Trumps Hate, a fanauction that raises money to various charities including RAINN, the Clean Water Fund, and more! I'll post more info when it's available, but if you're a fanfic writer, fanartist, or whatever I highly recommend you check it out!
> 
> Anyway, as always, please let me know what you think, if you enjoyed it, and I'll see you all next time! Hopefully it'll be a lot sooner.


	12. The Fuck Crests Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which multiple much-needed conversations occur, and certain parties are Not Pleased at how things are developing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind words and your patience. These past few chapters have been pretty hard to write, probably because my hellish schedule is leaving me exhausted and with one free day a week, but in two weeks it officially becomes slightly less hellish! 
> 
> Anyway, as always, please read, comment if you want, and enjoy! I'll get through all the comments and write that drabble tomorrow; I'm going to bed.

This first meeting was more of a trial run than anything else. Even so, most of the Black Eagles (everyone except Ferdinand, Linhardt, and Caspar) was there. Lysithea was also attending. Although Bern was technically absent, a folded piece of paper (or several) sat in Dorothea’s lap. Sylvain and Ingrid didn’t show up, despite Dorothea’s invitation. She tried not to be too disappointed. It was a lot to ask of them, after all. Edelgard was presiding over the meeting, Avarine on her shoulders as they emulated the emblem of Adrestia. Hubert stood to her left, and Byleth sat to her right. Petra sat at Dorothea’s side. Crests meant nothing to her, but after the fight with that beast? She wanted answers.

Edie took a sip of her tea—cinnamon blend, which the dining hall had a surplus of in stock this month for some reason. It paired well with the carrot cake. “Well, I suppose this meeting should begin,” Edie said. Cal couldn’t help but shudder as he felt Ava’s piercing gaze settle on him momentarily before moving on to the next person in the little group clustered around a tea table meant for two. “The purpose of this club is to allow us to respond to…events that affect us in our time at the academy and discuss proper responses to them. It is also an opportunity for us to discuss matters of policy and diplomacy.”

Zilbariel yawned from where he curled around Lys’s shoulders as a sable, an impressive flash of fang. “Or we can just dispense with the euphemisms and call it the Fuck Crests Club.”

“Zilbariel!” Ava hissed. “You know we have to be discreet about this sort of thing!”

“Why must we be so discreet?” Ardi asked as he shook out his feathers. “Is there truly so much to be fearing from speaking out against Crests?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes and gave a sardonic smile; Edie and Lys gave each other nervous glances. “I dunno Petra, what do you think?”

“I am thinking…I am thinking that the Church is hiding many secrets. And I do not have understanding as to why they do not want us to be sharing the story of what had been…what happened to Miklan. We are having similar tales in Brigid, tales of people who have been…who have caused some great offense to the spirits, or have broken the laws of hospitality, or have committed similar terrible crimes. The spirits are then inflicting an equally great punishment in return. In some of the stories, the criminal is being…is turned into a monster. But these stories are warnings. They are meant to be told, so that we can know how to not be causing offense to the spirits. Why would the leader of the Fodlan faith not wish to warn the people of Fodlan about offending the goddess?”

“Why indeed,” mused Hubert. “Unless she does not want the people of Fodlan to learn. Or perhaps it’s about something else entirely.”

“Then what could it be about?”

Edelgard leaned back in her seat and spread her hands. “Why don’t we discuss them?”

The cramped tea table fell silent. _Nobody_ wanted to be the first to speak and bear their scars. And Dorothea had the distinct feeling that everyone in this club was here because they had Crest-related scars to bear.

Cal cleared his throat. “There was…a girl, in my opera company.” Ava gave him a Look which he briefly returned before settling down against the brim of Dorothea’s cap and continuing, “whose mother was a servant of a noble house. Her father was one of those nobles, and impregnated her in hopes of producing a so-called crest baby. When that failed, and failed again, rather than face the consequence of siring bastard children, he expelled both mother and surviving child from his household…The mother died on the streets of Enbarr. The child would have too, if not for the opera company.” Cal took another breath. Under him, Dorothea’s teeth hurt from how tightly they were clenched together. “Several years later the nobleman bragged about it. While drunkenly flirting with a daughter he did not recognize.”

There was silence, except for the crack of a snapped writing quill from Edelgard’s side of the table. And the soft warmth of Petra’s hand brushing against hers. She moved her own hand a little closer, until their pinkies overlapped.

“Dorothea,” Edie asked, and oh her eyes blazed like fire. Behind her, Hubie’s glittered like a snake. And…was that a flash of teeth under Bel’s curled lip?

_“They don’t know it’s us,”_ Cal whispered.

_“If they did, would they still care?”_

_“I…maybe? I…I think so…”_

“Dorothea,” And Edelgard’s voice was so clipped, cool, regal, but she could still hear the embers glowing behind every word. “What is the name of this so-called nobleman?”

_“Oh. They do.”_

“I’ll tell you later.”

Hubert lifted his head. “See that you do.”

Petra drummed her free hand on the table; her other one was still brushing against Dorothea’s. Her pulse was so soft and warm. Dorothea didn’t even want to look down, for fear that it would vanish once she did. “Is this a…common happening in Fodlan?”

Edie nodded. Which was a relief, because Dorothea didn’t really trust herself to speak at the moment. Heck, it was _Cal_ who said that, because she couldn’t bring herself to do so. They both felt rubbed raw, sore and slightly bleeding to the touch. “Unfortunately, it is all too common an occurrence. The nobility places an emphasis on Crests to the exclusion of all else, including talent or competency. One could argue that this is a foreseeable consequence, a culmination of the initial church-enforced quasi-worship of Crests hundreds of years ago.”

“That is making no sense. In Brigid there are people who are being…who are blessed by the spirits, yes, but they receive these blessings because of great deeds, not in…ah, not in advance of them,” Petra said, briefly searching for the right word. “That is sounding like a way for bad people to gain great power, with no way to be stopping them.”

“Precisely. Petra, thank you for joining these sessions. I believe you and your spirits can provide some much-needed wisdom to us and the faith of this land.” Lys and Zilbar both stared at Edie and Ava in shock. As did Dorothea and Cal, and everyone at the table who knew just what Edie was implying with those words.

The rest of the Fuck Crests Club (because no way was Dorothea going to think of it as anything else now) continued along the same lines for the next hour and a half. Eventually it wrapped up, and Dorothea swore silently to drag Ingrid and Sylvain to the next meeting if need be. Sylvain was not okay last time she saw him, and having another sympathetic ear might be good for him. Everyone else drifted off, but Edie, Hubie, and the professor were huddled in a little corner. Well that was too interesting not to eavesdrop on, and Dorothea was always one for gossip. She slowed her gait and lingered behind a building, just to listen in.

“…Professor, I thought you were going to be a moderator to our sessions, not turn us over for heresy,” That was Hubie, and he sounded furious. Wait, what? Heresy?! This had to be a misunderstanding.

“It has to be,” Cal whispered, but he was trying to convince himself as well, not just her. “Otherwise she’d go right to Rhea, not stick around.”

“Shh.” Byleth was speaking.

“I, Seteth said to take summary notes of the meetings, that was the only way I could get official permission for this.”

“But my teacher, if you deliver these notes to Seteth, he will turn them over to Rhea and she will have us all charged with sedition or heresy for saying such things. Probably both.”

“What?” That was Bel, and they sounded…well, as horrified as she had ever heard them sound.

Professor Byleth spoke up. “How can we prevent that?”

“Embellish them. Be creative. It shouldn’t be that hard for you, Professor.” That was Hubie.

“I…How do I do that?”

“…My teacher?”

Silence. Then, “I…Can you help me? Help me help you?”

“…Of course. Let’s go over this together.”

And then they walked off, apparently none the wiser to Dorothea’s eavesdropping.

“That was weird,” Calphour said from her cupped hands held up to her face. “Why would our professor have such difficulty with embellishing words?”

“I don’t know. I guess you can’t be good at everything.”

“I guess.”

She still felt raw. But, oddly enough, she felt a little lighter at the same time.

* * *

Finally, some blessed quiet. No Ferdinand yammering away, no incessant bragging, no constant attempts at competition. He was off being sickeningly sweet with Bernadetta at the next table over, clumsily flirting with her, or something along similar lines, while she buried her tomato-red face in her hands. Embry was buried somewhere in Mal’s quills; Hubert couldn’t see the annoying little bee.

“Hubert, look at that,” Thani whispered, nudging at his shoulder. She jabbed a paw in the direction of the two lovebirds. Ferdiand was currently trying to share his dessert with Bernadetta, said something that left her squeaking and flailing and Embry flying back to the cover of the so-called noblest of nobles. Hubert chuckled lowly, basking in the sight of schadenfreude at Ferdinand’s expense.

“Not that I don’t enjoy the sight of that incompetent buffoon making an utter fool of himself—I could watch it all day and never cease to glean enjoyment—but Thanily we have to get back to reviewing these records.”

“You’re right.” Hubert sighed and tore his gaze away from Ferdinand and Bernadetta being sickeningly cute and looked back at the files. This dossier was on Petra and Brigid. Her history, her grandfather’s history. Notes on Brigidian culture, documentation on Brigidian troops and strengths. An assessment on Petra’s character, notes on Ardior’s form. A list of character traits consistently seen in others with snow goose daemons. Those in the school whom Petra had close ties with. He had similar records, with varying levels of completeness, on everyone in the academy.

To be fair, most of the dossier was in his room under lock and key and multiple ciphers. The filed in front of him were more brief notes on how she related to the last meeting than anything else. Thanily flipped a couple of the pages. “How likely do you think it is that Petra will secure a reliable alliance between us and Brigid in the war to come?”

Hubert tapped his pen against his chin. “Any alliance with Brigid requires granting independence at the end of the war. Petra would consider that part of any treaty or alliance to be absolutely non-negotiable. Fortunately I do not believe it would be such a difficult treaty to draft, at least not in the broad strokes.”

“So are you saying this was a good idea?” Thanily teased.

“Flames no, this is asking for disaster.” What was his lady thinking, leaving herself so open and vulnerable like this? They were here to play student and gather intelligence, not pretend to forge bonds and alliances with people they would have to inevitably betray and kill in just a few months’ time. Hubert was no stranger to killing, but he was a man all the same. It was more difficult, killing someone when you knew their face and voice and what kind of tea they enjoyed. Still doable, of course, nothing would stop him from his duty, but why make something unnecessarily difficult? To make matters worse, not only was Lady Edelgard exposing herself to more heartbreak from those who could not be trusted, but she was also risking their entire scheme! The wicked archbishop was carefully grooming Byleth, trying to dig her claws into their professor. The professor held an affection for her students, yes, but at the critical moment, would she truly stick by it? Hubert hoped she would—the Sword of the Creator was a powerful asset, and Lady Edelgard held her in high esteem for some reason—but hope was a foolish thing to depend on. Best to assume that Professor Byleth would side with the church and he would have to cut her down.

In the end they could trust nobody but each other. It was foolish to risk opening up to anybody. Especially not the loudmouth braggart most foolish of fools who called himself Ferdinand. Oh, it was entertaining to verbally eviscerate the man, watch Embrienne quiver in frustration and efforts at self-restraint, snap Thani’s fangs at the bee as he tore those arguments apart. It was so entertaining to watch Ferdinand’s composure disintegrate under the weight realization that he was naught but a fool, at best a dog who needed to be brought to heel.

“A shame,” Hubert mused from between steepled fingertips as he watched Ferdinand carefully divide his dessert in half between himself and Bernadetta. “If only he were not so focused on surpassing Lady Edelgard—a futile task—he could be a useful asset to our Empire.”

“Oh really now?” Thani’s knowing smirk was met with a hand to her face shoving her aside.

“You know very well what I mean. That optimism is a useful asset, and some of his ideas…have merit.” And Bernadetta, she was invaluable in battle when she was not panicking and able to focus. He had to admit that she was getting better control over her fears as of late, although it was still rare to see her outside of her room for an extended period of time. Or even a relatively “normal” period of time. Perhaps now that she was spending much of her free time with Ferdinand, some of his overly bombastic and confident nature would rub off on her. It would certainly be a more useful expenditure of time than arguing with him, or running off in fright from the sound of his voice. It would happen, with time. She was much stronger than initial impressions indicated, and he had to admit that she had made great strides over the course of the year.

And it was a better use of his time, to be alone. Lady Edelgard had said as much, that she did not want or need him to be hovering over her like a particularly motherly hawk. Hubert reluctantly acquiesced. Besides, he could very well watch her from a distance. The Vestras were men of the shadows after all. And as much as Edelgard wanted to trust Dorothea and Petra and the other women of the Eagles, well…even if they were sympathetic towards their cause, the gap between sympathy and outright alliance was a large one. If Lady Edelgard would not prepare for that possibility, then he would do it for her.

More people were entering the dining hall now. Bernadetta stiffened like a rabbit just spotted by a hawk. Clearly this was too much for her at once; she was already at her limit and the fear of being spotted along with whatever subsequent rumors she might weave in her head would no doubt be too much to bear. But what would Ferdinand do? Would he notice or would he ignore her limits and push her farther than she was capable of going?

Ferdinand failed to disappoint; Bernadetta was halfway to shutting down before he finally noticed and escorted her out of the dining room. There was a sudden squeal of embarrassment form her—ah, that must have been Ferdinand kissing the back of her hand.

Ferdinand did not return to argue with Hubert like he usually did. And that was fine. Truly, it was.

He needed the quiet. And he and Thanily had work to do. It was best not to waste time on Bernadetta, and even more important to not waste any time on Ferdinand.

* * *

Several days of late summer thunderstorms finally broke some time after dusk, bringing with them a refreshing breeze. There was an edge of crispness to it, the hints of autumn. Byleth threw open the window and let that breeze tousle her hair, breathed in the first substantial amount of fresh air her room had seen in days. 

A familiar shape of white pointed wings flashed across the open window. White pointed wings, but no white hair to accompany it. “Avarine?”

But where was Edelgard? Byleth opened the door and took off after Ava. 

She didn’t have to go far. Edelgard was on the overlook by the cemetery, wrapped in a nightgown and bathrobe with her shoulder pad hastily strapped into place. The young princess leaned against the retaining wall as the breeze turned her white hair into a streaming banner. Avarine perched on her shoulders, wings open to better catch the wind. 

“Edelgard?”

Edelgard stiffened, and only relaxed when Ava’s head whipped around. “Ah, thank Flames, it's only you. What brings you here so late at night?” She shuffled over slightly, though there was already enough space for another. 

Byleth took the invitation and settled her arms against the cool stone. Belial curled up, warm against her feet. “I could ask you the same thing. Nightmares again?”

A long sigh from Edelgard. “Is it that obvious? I despise being cooped up when sleep evades me. I just have to get some fresh air, feel the wind on my face and under Ava’s wings. I wonder if it’s partially because she’s a gyrfalcon. Though that isn’t all of it...” She drummed her fingers against her arms, still clad in the long sleeves of her nightgown. “Have you ever felt a sort of longing for the outdoors? I have. There are times I long for the warmth of the sun, for a sweet breeze on my face...”

“...I can’t say that I have in particular. Sorry.” Outside was nice, sure, but Byleth never felt any particular longing for it, never had a strong preference for the woods or deserts or towns. Not for wind, not for light. She didn’t like especially hot or cold environments, or being out in a bone-chilling rain, but that was due more to physical discomfort than anything else. Sometimes her father would spend an hour on Domaghar’s back, just racing through an open field for the sheer joy of it. But Byleth had never felt that way at all. 

Edelgard and Avarine both turned. The look they both gave her was simultaneous calculating and cautious. “Do you remember what I told you a few months ago? About...my nightmares? And my siblings?”

_“Should you say you forgot? I mean, she did ask you to forget…”_

“How could I forget?”

The sound of Sothis’s hand smacking her forehead echoed through the back of Byleth’s mind. _"Come on! It was right there, at least take a swing!" _But so was the inescapable feeling that this was a deflection for the girl in her head. Because Byleth could feel Sothis’s empathy and pain buzzing through her.

Ava flew off Edelgard’s shoulder to perch on the retaining wall and lean into the princess’s hand. Edelgard stepped closer, wrapped her other hand around her daemon’s form as if that muscled arm could shield her from the world.

When she finally spoke, it was “My siblings and I were...After the insurrection, we were imprisoned underground, beneath the palace. Our captors wanted to endow our bodies with the power of a Major Crest. I have always possessed the Crest of Seiros, inherited through the Hresvelg bloodline.” She breathed, and the crest flared to life in her open hands. It flickered away as she continued. “But it was only a Minor Crest, and most of my siblings bore no Crest at all. In order to create a peerless emperor to rule Fódlan, they…violated our bodies by cutting open our very flesh.”

Edelgard rolled up her sleeve to show the white lines of surgical scars running down her arm and back up the cloth. The world stopped; even Sothis went silent in her head.

Her voice was dull and rote; she was almost speaking through Byleth. “They carved us open just to implant another crest. Officially because they wanted to create a perfect ruler. But I think it was because they wanted to, because they could.”

“And they did more besides,” Avarine added, nestled further into Edelgard’s touch. “I still remember their _hands_ on me, the way it felt being dragged away from El…Edelgard. Over and over, until we could be any distance apart. And then over and over, even beyond that.”

“…No.” Belial didn’t move any closer to Byleth, but they still shuddered. That...that was…

Edelgard’s fingers were clutched deep in Avarine’s white feathers; Ava’s head pressed into the curve of her neck. Even when she turned back to face Byleth, those fingers still remained buried in her feathers. For a moment, she no longer looked like the calculating and reserved heir to the Empire, but a scared young girl. And now her voice was clipped and laced with rage, not just lost in the memories of pain. “And after all that pain and suffering, here I stand, the fruit of that endeavor: Edelgard von Hresvelg! And what was that price? My body and daemon. My brothers and sisters. Dozens of innocents, who died screaming for their daemons, without even knowing what they were dying for.”

Ava continued where Edelgard no longer could. “And there you have it. The truth of the Hresvelg’s empire.”

“…Who did this.” Who did this to Edelgard and Avarine? Who _dared_ to lay their hands on her, on so many others?! Something great was swelling in her, three simultaneous snarls that could only end buried in anothers’ throat. How dare they? “_How dare they?!”_ She would find those who did this, tear them apart, make them _pay_…

Her face was blank, the fury so great it—how could all this rage fit only in one body? It hurt, hurt so much, quivered under her skin, threatened to spill out of her—only visible through Bel’s bared teeth.

“It was the prime minister and his gaggle of nobles. They had the Empire under their thumbs. My father, the emperor, tried to stop them, but...it was futile. My father was nothing but a puppet on a string by then. He was powerless to save us, no matter what he did_._ And they never would have thought of it if Crests weren’t so important in our society.”

Edelgard sighed, and opened her hands again. She breathed, and Ava shuddered as a crest flared to life in her open hands. Unfurled, like a butterfly’s wings.

_“What?!”_

The Crest of Flames, the same as hers.

“I don’t know how you can do it, be so far away from Professor Byleth all the time even without that explicit tether,” Ava said to Bel. “When this crest manifested in me for the first time, they were flush with success, but I…We swore a silent oath.” And oh, that must have been the moment when Ava was a gyrfalcon for good, the emperor of all falcons, white wings and white hair and a piercing gaze that could see through everything.

Edelgard stared right into Byleth’s eyes, wrapped again in that air of authority and sheer determination. “For the sake of my family and for all the poor souls whose lives were traded for my existence, for the sake of everyone who suffers under the current regime’s yoke…For their sake, I will build a world where such meaningless sacrifice is never again sanctioned. As emperor, I will change the world. I swear it.”

* * *

A gyrfalcon landed on a branch deep within a tree and looked down at the two people below.

This was unusual in several aspects. First off all, a gyrfalcon would not pay humans any mind beyond whether or not they pose an imminent threat. Second, it was night, and gyrfalcons were diurnal raptors. Third, Garreg Mach in the Horsebow Moon was too warm and too far south for a gyrfalcon to dwell. But there were only two people to notice the raptor, and if they did they made no mention of it.

The first was an older man with white hair, ashen skin, and too-pale eyes. The most obvious sign that he was truly human and not a facsimile of one was the gray emperor tamarin with equally long white whiskers that curled down from her face. The second figure was clad head to toe in long armor and bright red feathers that crowned their head and flowed from a plume atop their helmet. A porcelain mask, exquisitely carved and painted, concealed their entire face.

They had no daemon with them. Not even an image of one engraved onto that crimson armor. But nobody was there to see beyond those who two, who did not seem to care.

“I have important information to report,” said the Flame Emperor. “It appears that Princess Edelgard, along with the new professor, has started a club. This club, although ostensibly meant to improve diplomacy and relations between different factions within the Empire and the three nations of Fodlan, is actually a way for the princess to gauge general support for the Church and its stranglehold on the continent.”

“And?” That was the tamarin daemon; the ashen man did not even give the Flame Emperor the dignity of a response.

“It appears that there is much more general disdain—perhaps even hatred—for the Church and Crest System among the next generation of nobles than we initially believed. The Church must be destroyed, and for that the first strike must happen soon, but if we launch that initial blow while these students are still in school we risk losing their sympathies, and potentially their lives,” said the Flame Emperor. Not Edelgard, not her dear El, Avarine thought hidden in the trees above, far away from sight and range. That was not Edelgard in there but the Flame Emperor, and Edelgard would not return until that beast masquerading as a man was long gone. The Flame Emperor had no daemon, was not El. If she were, then they would be lost.

The ashen man gave no evidence of outward emotion, but the fact that he spoke instead of his daemon was tell enough. “We created you to burn even the wretched gods. Are you truly going to turn your back on your destiny?”

“Of course not. What I am suggesting is that we postpone the attack. Those extra few months of alliances and garnering sympathies could prove crucial in the long conflict ahead of us.”

The tamarin daemon stared at the Flame Emperor, low and level. “Or make us redundant, and the Empire less reliant on our support.”

“Not at all,” the Flame Emperor said _too quickly, El!_ “We need your power and technology to have any hope of defeating the Church.”

“Unless the princess recruits the professor. Who, as I might remind you, wields the Sword of the Creator.”

“That is unlikely to happen.” _Better, El. Shit. SHIT! _“After all, that wretched archbishop is doing everything in her power to get her claws into the professor. She could never stand to see somebody grow up outside her clutches.”

“And whatever the Church wants, the Church gets—at least, for now. As long as you remember that.” The ashen man looked down upon the Flame Emperor. “Let us hope that Princess Edelgard remembers her place as well.”

The ashen man vanished in the violet magic of a warp spell, leaving the Flame Emperor behind.

The Flame Emperor sulked away. In the darkness, a gyrfalcon said, “Fuck.”

* * *

“Happy birthday, Byleth and Belial!”

She had almost forgotten. It wasn’t like birthdays were a big deal between her and her father. The only reason Byleth knew her birthday was because she had asked her father during one of the Good Days. And then her students had asked her, and she replied, “The twentieth of the Horsebow Moon,” without even thinking. She forgot about it just a few minutes later, in the middle of teaching about small group stealth tactics (Petra had some fascinating insights that were aided by Brigidian weaponry. Perhaps she could help lead a seminar on guerilla tactics for extra credit on the weekend).

Byleth never forgot her students’ birthdays though, nor did she forget the birthdays of the students in other houses. No matter how busy she was, how many papers she had to grade or exams she had to proctor, Byleth always took time to share tea and cake with her students, wish them a happy birthday, and give them some sort of personalized present. Why was it such a surprise that they would do the same for her?

The pendant was simple, but no less beautiful for it. The centerpiece was an eagle carved from glossy obsidian, its wings outstretched and suspended from the silvery chain. The stone eagle clutched a blood-red ruby in its talons.

It served no purpose in battle. It was simply an ornamental pendant of an black stone eagle grasping a ruby in its talons.

_”A little on the nose, but it really is a sweet gift.”_

Byleth put it on and Belial nosed the cool smooth stone that now sat above her still chest. It was beautiful. “Thank you.”

Edelgard shook her head. “No, from all of us, thank you. You’re our teacher. You have guided us both in the classroom and on the battlefield, and more importantly you have listened to us. You listened to our hopes and fears and dreams and…” Edelgard broke off, but Byleth knew what the end of that sentence was in her head.

“It’s not just us,” Avarine added. “You’ve listened to Bernadetta, helped rein in Caspar, made sure Linhardt got to class…My teacher, in Conand Tower, you made us into a well-oiled machine against that Demonic Beast. I don’t know what would have happened if not for you.”

“Some of us would have died in that battle, Ava. That’s what would have happened.”

_“Damn right, Princess! We’re the reason all you pups are alive and well now!”_

“Thank you, Edelgard. You…You all mean so much to me. I’ve grown with all of you just as much as you have with me.” Was it just Sothis waking up? Sothis was the spark, there was no doubt. None of this would have happened if she had nothing but bad days. But it was her students, her fledglings, who filled those days and made them what they were.

So Byleth held the stone eagle in the palm of her hand and smiled. Edelgard’s eyes lit up in delight, and Ava gave Bel a nod with an amused look of her own.

“Will you share whatever you catch with us for dinner?” the gyrfalcon daemon asked.

Byleth grabbed her fishing rod. The faint distant smile was still present on her face. “Of course.”

_“Why don’t you invite her along?!”_ Sothis shouted in her head. _“That girl is so wound up she might snap; she needs some time to just relax and not think about anything. Not to mention that I think she’d really want to spend time with you, if you know what I mean?”_

She didn’t, and neither did she understand why the question made her feel a bit…funny…inside. But Byleth let the matter drift away as she said in her normal flat tone, “We’ll all have dinner and work on group projects and training exercises later. But this is how I’ve spent every birthday, at least the ones I remember. Going fishing with my dad.”

“I think we did it on the Bad Days too,” Belial added, loping slightly ahead so the fishing hook wouldn’t catch in their fur. It was peaceful. No fighting, no training—not that Byleth and Bel didn’t love the rush of training, the thrill of fighting, but sometimes it was just a bit much—just sitting next to her father with a bucket of water and two bottles of alcohol, lines in the water, watching the clouds go by.

It wasn’t just her father down by the fishing pond though. Seteth was there, sitting on Jeralt’s left while Domaghar leaned her head down on her father’s right shoulder. The fishing lines bobbed up and down in the water but they were focused in a low conversation.

_“Well don’t just stand there! I know you’re curious,”_ Sothis egged on in the back of her mind.

Well, it was accurate. Belial padded forward, low to the ground so they wouldn’t be detected.

“Look, Seteth, I know you’re Flayn’s older brother but you might as well be her father. I…I know just how scary it is, seeing your child grow up and become independent, because it means you won’t be able to keep them safe the way you used to.”

“That is true, but…” Belial could see Seteth’s shoulders tense. “We have been in danger before. I am afraid, what could happen to Flayn, if I am not there to protect her. And she is also sheltered from the ways of the world. It would be easy for someone else to take advantage of her.”

“Which is why you need to let her grow up and become her own young woman.” He leaned up and scratched the soft underside of Doma’s chin. “Look, Seteth, what happens when you’re an old man, or you get hurt, and you _can’t_ take care of Flayn like before? She has to live her own life, she can’t be shielded by you forever.”

Seteth just stared at the pond.

Jeralt sighed and took a long drink from his ever-present flask. “Look…this doesn’t leave this fishing pond, okay? Byleth was…There’s a lot going on with her. Stuff that will affect her for her entire life. And it…it hurt, like nothing else, when I realized that there are some things that my daughter is never going to be able to do. All these hopes and dreams I had for her, and they probably won’t ever happen.” He pulled in the line. “But that doesn’t mean she can’t have new dreams. She’s still a young woman, and she’s still growing up and…just…Gah, I’m not good at this mushy stuff. But if I kept my daughter in a little bubble because I was afraid of what would happen to her growing up, then she wouldn’t be where she is today. A professor at the academy, teaching the future of Adrestia. I don’t know what Belial would have been. But…it’s scary, and it’s a little bit sad, seeing my daughter grow up and not need me as much anymore, but it’s also the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“…You may be right about that.” Seteth held his daemon in his hands; the bearded dragon was as quiet and contemplative as always. “The situation is…complicated, but perhaps I have been too overbearing.”

“I know you’re there,” Domaghar said with a swish of her tail. Seteth tensed and whipped around. “No need to hide it, Bel.”

“One of these days you won’t notice me,” they said, padding over to greet the draft horse daemon with a nuzzle and embrace. Byleth approached out of the shadows, ready to do battle.

The stern advisor stood. “I will leave the two of you and not intrude. Once Flayn returns, please let her know I am in my office.”

“Got it.” Jeralt lazily waved him off, turned the gesture into a tousle of Byleth’s already messy hair. “Pretty necklace. That from your students?”

And with that they feel into their comfortable routine. Byleth and Jeralt sat and fished, teased and competed over who could land the biggest catch—Byleth was the eventual winner, landing a lucky Goddess Messenger—while their daemons quietly talked and teased each other. Though that was new; usually it was Jeralt and Domaghar who did most of the talking. They still did, but Byleth and Belial contributed more than before.

They fished until the sky darkened and lengthened their shadows until they fell all the way onto the steps to the dining hall.

Flayn never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The train is threatening to derail, and certain parties are Not Happy About That. Don't worry, we'll be seeing more of the Fuck Crests Club.
> 
> Thales's daemon is a female emperor tamarin. Arundel's daemon was a golden lion tamarin. Lots of paint and hair dye is used. 
> 
> See you all tomorrow with the drabble, and then hopefully sooner than 2 weeks with the next update! 
> 
> Also, good news: I have figured out where things stand post-timeskip. Suffice to say that the board is _quite_ different and the timeskip may or may not even be 5 years...


	13. Those Who Rerail Wicked Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard tries to forge a different path. Certain parties...don't approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The universe did not want me to finish and post this chapter. Scheduhell went on for 2 weeks longer than it was originally supposed to go and I'm still recovering. Thank you all so, _so_ much for being patient. I promise things will be faster from here on out. 
> 
> As always, please comment, like, subscribe, etc, and I hope you all read this extra-long chapter and enjoy!
> 
> Also, you've all played Cindered Shadows, right? Damn that was good! Expect to see Cindered Shadows, Abyss, and the Ashen Wolves in here somehow!

Whatever panic the monastery had been thrown into over the ultimately false assassination plot was _ nothing _ compared to the actual disappearance of Flayn. Frankly, Edelgard was surprised that classes were still being held. Seteth had canceled his flight seminars, much to Ingrid and Petra’s chagrin and Hubert’s (amusingly) immense relief. Half of the knights were missing, and the other half was all but tearing the monastery apart searching for Flayn. Once again, the day-to-day activities of the monastery were completely upended in the search for Flayn. 

“I’m going to kill that homicidal psychopath,” Hubert growled, stabbing into his food as if it were Jeritza’s face. Thanily paced back and forth under the table, her teeth bared in a snarl. Avarine stood guard perched on her shoulder, but Hubert was intimidating enough that most people gave them a wide berth regardless. “He’s getting sloppy, did you know that? There are rumors of a masked man with no visible daemon slipping into town overnight; it’s become impossible for me to do my reconnaissance. Even Felix mentioned his sudden agitation to Professor Byleth. We need to prepare for Jeritza’s cover to be exposed and distance ourselves from him.”

“At least his daemon is a wolverine,” Thanily added from under the table. “You can’t hide a wolverine under his armor so that should buy us some time.”

Just the mention of Jeritza’s daemon made Hubert clench his fingers against his upper arm. Wait. “Hubert, are you scared of Jeritza?”

The glare Hubert reflexively shot her could have melted the heaviest armor, but it quickly softened. “I am only answering because it is you, Lady Edelgard, but I find Jeritza…disturbing. It is not just the way he can so casually abandon his daemon while masquerading as the Death Knight,” although that was part of it. Hubert did not frighten easily—he was the kind of person to frighten others—but he had revealed to her, once and only once, that discovering what was left of her brothers and sisters down in the palace had been one of the worst experiences of his life. Only repeated exposure to her, and now Professor Byleth, dulled that edge, “but also his attitude towards killing.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Lady Edelgard, have you _ heard _ the Death Knight talk about killing? I take a grim satisfaction at most in my work, but that _ man _ ,” and he used the label as if the Death Knight only barely qualified, “speaks of killing in a manner reminiscent of particularly lurid romance novels. It is as if he is _ aroused _ by murder.”

“Hubert, I—“ He was right, of course. Jeritza was perfectly fine when he was in control. The problem was that he frequently was not. And when his Death Knight persona was at the metaphorical reins, the only real way to use him was to point him at the closest target, then get out of the way. “I know. I wish we did not have to use him either. But he is powerful, and loyal to us and our cause.”

Hubert pressed his fingers to his forehead. _ “Jeritza _ is loyal. The Death Knight is a rabid hound. Lady Edelgard, I know that what Jeritza went through thanks to the nobility and his crest was particularly grotesque, but you have endured far worse without succumbing to sadism.”

Avarine gave a wry scoff. “Some might think otherwise, in a few moons.”

“But you’re not.” Thanily and Hubert glanced at each other; the fox daemon quickly changed the subject. “So why Flayn?”

Hubert scratched at his chin. “They must be trying to send a message—”

“— We _ know _ they’re trying to send a message.” She had told him about Thales’s threats immediately upon returning to the monastery. “But what does Flayn have to do with this message? They’re clearly trying to do two things at once.”

Their lunch was lukewarm and forgotten at this point. Hubert drummed the fork against his half-finished meal in thought. “They clearly want Flayn for some sort of nefarious plot. If they wished to kill her they would have dumped her body for us to find by now. If they wished to ransom her, then we would have received a letter by now. They are aware of the Professor to some extent, so perhaps they are planning for her interference?”

That did make a lot of sense. It seemed as though Thales and the rest of his cult were wary of her teacher and her potential. Was she truly a prototype for implantation of the Crest of Flames? Professor Byleth appeared to be too much of an unexpected variable to their “allies” in the dark for that, but Edelgard could not think of any other logical explanation for a sudden appearance of that crest. Unless Rhea’s disturbing obsession with her was related? Regardless. 

“There’s going to be a trap, and knowing our luck we’re going to have to spring the trap. All we can do right now is prepare for it to go off.”

“Just another knife to balance,” Hubert said. “I should have taken up street performing, with all the juggling I’m being asked to perform.”

It was Hubert’s normal laugh, his normal acerbic words, but the bags under his eyes were deeper than usual. Oh Hubert, her faithful servant and closest friend. The fox to her falcon, cunning and clever and loyal to the last. His burden was just as great as hers. “I only ask because I know you can handle the burden.”

“I have no need for your praise, Lady Edelgard.”

“Oh, hush.” She saw Thanily’s gaze. “Accept the compliment where it’s due.”

“I shall try.”

As Edelgard left, Avarine dipped down to the ground to briefly rub her head against Thanily’s, and she nuzzled her in return. 

Hubert was far more cynical, less allured by the siren call of hope that had started to ring in Edelgard’s ears, but he was right. If Jeritza could not control himself, then he would rapidly become more trouble than he was worth.

“Which might be what Thales and his cult are after,” Avarine whispered on her shoulder. “If the church is constantly on edge, we won’t be able to evaluate potential allies. We certainly won’t be able to continue the club.”

“That has to be it.” The sympathies of multiple nobles across all three nations was more than worth one powerful, deranged knight. Her teacher alone was an arguably even trade. More importantly (and chillingly) she knew, they knew, and they knew of each other that if she secured those sympathies, there would be no more need for Those Who Slithered In The Dark. 

“We need to find Flayn. It has to be us, to make Rhea less suspicious.” Avarine paused and leaned forward, still perched on her shoulder. “Is that Seteth?”

It was Seteth, though it took Edelgard a moment to find his green hair camouflaged against the bushes. It was raining, the sky a dreary gray. The shops in the courtyard were desolate, and there was nobody else by the fishing pond. Not even her teacher would want to fish in this weather, not with Belial grumbling complaints through soaked fur. So why was Seteth here?

He didn’t do anything, just stared out at the fishing pond, his bearded dragon daemon in hand. Safely concealed behind a wall, Edelgard watched Seteth crumple into his cupped hands, his shoulders shaking as he silently sobbed into his daemon. 

Seteth was a strict and stern man who tolerated no impropriety from his charges and was overprotective, almost smothering, towards Flayn. Seteth was a patient and compassionate man who listened to the woes of her classmates, who offered both advice and reassurance in turn. Seteth was a man who claimed to desire nothing more than teaching the future of Fodlan, but aggressively censored the library collection from inquiring eyes. Seteth was a man who, although he did not approve of the crest-based caste system that Fodlan at large had degenerated into, although at the right hand of the archbishop herself, did nothing except tut his private disapproval to actually _ do _ something about that. Seteth was complicit. 

Seteth looked just like her father did when they reunited after her months upon months chained in the dark. Seteth looked as lost and broken as her father was when he beheld his only child, her skin marred with tight raised scars and her hair bleached bone-white and Avarine still adjusting to her wings and range. Seteth looked just like _ she _had down there in the dark, screaming after her brothers and sisters but unable to do anything to save them. 

Seteth was complicit, but Flayn, whatever or whomever she might truly be, was not. And if their “allies” in the dark wanted to kidnap and not simply murder her, then they needed her for something terrible. 

Avarine shook the rain off her feathers. “We need to find Flayn.”

* * *

“Mal, this isn’t a dream, right? It’s not some mean trick? I mean, lots of people would want to trick pathetic old Bernie, but Ferdie wouldn’t do that right?”

“I think it’s real, Bernie.” Malecki sat under the violet flowers of some particularly lovely butterworts. She couldn’t go back to her room now, not until she _ knew _ the Professor was gone. Flayn going missing was bad enough but now she couldn’t even hide from the chaos. So here she was in the second-best spot. “Haha, it’s crazy, isn’t it? But I don’t think Ferdie would trick us, especially not for this long. He really is courting us! Bernie, you are a marriageable girl!”

That was too much. Bernie screamed into some large ferns, softly. “Don’t say things like that!” Just the concept of her in the same sentence as “courting” or “marriageable” or anything in that category made her feel like her brain needed to shut down for emergency repairs. 

Mal laughed nervously into his paws. “Do you think he’s a good kisser, Bernie? I think he’d be a really good kisser,, and he might actually want to kiss Bernie!”

Why was Mal talking? Please stop talking, Malecki! Her face flamed and why were there no pitcher plants large enough for her to drown in why did she have to keep hearing this?! “He has kissed me!” she squeaked.”And it’s, it’s warm! And soft! And nice!”

Mal climbed into her lap, and kept trying despite her attempts to shove him off. “He’s only kissed you on the hands or cheek. What about on the lips? Or with...with his tongue?” That last word was lost in a squeak. 

Bernadetta, too, was reduced to an embarrassed squeak behind her hands as she begged Mal to please just, “Stop saying words!” It was a _ nice _ mental image, the thought of Ferdinand’s strong arms around her waist, his lips warm against her…

The sound of someone setting flowerpots against each other shook Bernadetta out of her thoughts. Dedue was here. Oh Goddess, Dedue had been here this entire time gardening just how much did he hear?! And she’d been doing so well. They’d gardened together (well, okay, not together, but the two of them had been in the greenhouse together working on their own things and she hadn’t run away screaming so that was as good as working together for her!) every so often and Dedue looked scary but he didn’t actually do anything to her and if he secretly hated her for not sticking up for him a few months ago he didn’t say anything about it. And oh no now he heard everything he’s going to think she’s a pathetic loser who becomes a useless puddle at the thought of Ferdinand merely kissing her how could she ever show her face around Dedue again?! Malecki disappeared under the butterworts again, a trembling ball of humiliation that flinched at the sound of even more footsteps.

Oh no. Oh no, was he calling over his friends to laugh at her? He wasn’t calling over mean scary Felix, was he?!

“You. Stand up now. What’s in that wheelbarrow?”

...No, even worse. It was the greenhouse manager. The same one who insulted Dedue back then. The same one who talked to scary gentle Dedue like he was less than nothing and she, stupid useless Bernie, could do nothing but tremble under some plants and _ watch. _

And here she was, being stupid and useless and doing the same thing all over again _ stupid Bernie, stop being useless and do something! _

It was even worse than last time, somehow. Bernie watched as Dedue tensed and jumped to his feet on command, heard Levia cut herself off mid-snort and watch through the window with wide eyes. Watched as the greenhouse manager once again marched up to his face and accused him of kidnapping Flayn as her daemon stared Levia down with unrestrained loathing. 

“Tell me, boy,” the greenhouse manager growled. She shoved over the wheelbarrow; plant cuttings scattered over the greenhouse floor. Her frog daemon jumped off her shoulder to look inside the wheelbarrow even though it was clearly too small to hold Flayn. “Who are you working with? Where are your Duscurian allies?”

Again, Dedue didn’t even try to defend himself. He just curled his fists and bowed his head and let the hatred wash over him. It reminded Bernie of when her father would scream at her, but while she was a worthless unmarriagable girl who did plenty of things that warranted screaming and scolding, Dedue didn’t even _ do _ anything! 

And again, Bernadetta found herself frozen to the ground, unable to do more than watch. It was happening again and even though she promised she was going to do better, she needed to do something to help Dedue didn’t deserve this she needed to

“Please stop.”

That was Mal. 

The world should have stopped, but it didn’t. The greenhouse manager kept attacking Dedue, and Dedue kept just rolling over and taking it (why was he doing that? He wasn’t like pathetic Bernie, and he was so much bigger and stronger than her too!), because Malecki said it too softly for anyone but Bernadetta to hear. 

But he said it, out loud. 

Body trembling, heart racing in her chest, Bernadetta stood up and forced herself forward, into the open and exposed center of the greenhouse. 

“Please...stop it.”

Now the greenhouse went silent. Both people turned to stare at her, Dedue with surprise and for some reason shame, the greenhouse manager with a flash of anger that sent her cringing behind Mal’s quills. 

_ “They’ve already seen us, it’s too late to run!” _

Oh this was a mistake, this was such a huge mistake. They were _ staring _ at her and Dedue was going to be so angry for getting in his business and look at those hands! He could crush her skull without even trying, and use her bones to fertilize his plants! And then the greenhouse manager was gonna kick her out of the greenhouse and then all her carnivorous plants would die and she’d have nowhere to sing so people would catch her singing and they’d make fun of her and Hubert would laugh at her and Ferdie would find out and he’d dump her and then she’d really be unmarriageable and—

She wailed, “Please stop it!” 

On initial instinct Dedue moved as if to step forward, but he quickly checked himself and stood stock still with his hands out and open by his sides. The greenhouse manager...she knew that smile. Knew the way her frog daemon held himself on her shoulder. That was the same way her father looked when nobles asked about the bruises on her arms or some of the questions she asked. Civility stretched thin and tight over disdain. “Bernadetta, was it?” she said. “You shouldn’t meddle in affairs that are of no concern to you.”

“I…” She was right, wasn’t she? Just like what her father said, good girls and useful women were quiet and only spoke when spoken to, but...she felt Mal’s paw on her hand. But Ferdinand wanted to listen to her. Princess Edelgard asked for her advice. Hubert wanted to make her feel comfortable even if he was really, really bad at it. And Professor Byleth was so kind and patient with her. 

“Dedue didn’t do anything!” she spouted, forcing the words out in a jumble. “So leave him alone!”

“Ah, the greenhouse manager. You’re friends with that monk by the stables, correct? So, what were you saying about Dedue?”

Four figures cast their shadows over the light of the greenhouse entrance. There was Dimitri, tall with the afternoon light literally shining off his armor. His face was set like granite, true anger rather than the resting face of Dedue. It bubbled over into Delcabia, who did not even try to conceal it beyond the veneer of politeness and instead was openly snorting and pawing at the stone, preparing to charge. 

Bernie would have run screaming in the other direction, except that first, there was no other direction. Second, Professor Byleth was there, the sword very conspicuously by her side, and Belial’s fur bristling straight up. There was a small frown on her face at the scene. 

The greenhouse manager’s gaze flicked between the two humans and daemons as her own darted beneath her clothes. “I, your Highness,” she licked her lips, “I was only just—”

A flash of movement, and all of a sudden Dimitri’s gauntleted hand was at the greenhouse manager's throat. There was an audible thud as he slammed the greenhouse manager against the wall of the greenhouse. The normally reserved Dimitri’s face was twisted in a feral snarl as he drew up against the greenhouse manager, right up to her face, staring her in the eyes. Another shake and her daemon fell out of her clothes, only for Delcabia to pin him to the ground. The greenhouse manager cried out in pain, a wordless yelp that only made Dimitri’s snarl deepen.

“Don’t lie to me you piece of filth. What did you say to Dedue? What did you do to Dedue?”

The greenhouse manager didn’t answer because the greenhouse manager couldn’t answer because _ Dimitri was choking her _Bernie didn’t know Dimitri well but he always seemed so composed not _ this _ and was he gonna strangle her next? She didn’t do anything but that also meant she didn’t do anything to help, or at least not enough—

A sudden presence by her shoulder started up a scream before the realization that it was Professor Byleth, only Professor Byleth, petered it out in the middle of her throat. Her hand was above Bernie’s shoulder, making her presence aware but not forcing contact. At the same time, through the fog of panic, Bernadetta saw Dedue rush over to Dimitri, grunting as he strained against the edge of his bond with Levia pressed against the wall of the greenhouse, and try to talk him down. 

“Your Highness, please. Do not worry about me.”

“You can go, Bernadetta.” Belial’s voice was soft and close. They stood by Bernadetta as Professor Byleth warily approached Dimitri, like someone attempting to calm a raging beast.

Not that Bernadetta needed to be told twice. She was already out the door, Malecki curled up tight in the pocket of her uniform, as she sprinted back to the safety of her room. She barely slowed down, even when Levia said, “...Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

The door slam still echoed around the room as Bernie slid down against it, hyperventilating into her curled-up legs. What was wrong with that gardener, doing that to Dedue? And it wasn’t just Dedue, he said something about all Duscurians! And then Dimitri...Dimitri…

It was like he became a totally different person. 

The thought floated in her head that this wasn’t just her and her father, not just Dedue and Duscur, but something deeper, like poison in the water. But the thought dissolved in her panic before she could really chase it down. 

“But we did it, Bernie!” Mal laughed, shaky and hysterical. “We did it, we stood up for Dedue! Ahahaha…”

Bernie and Mal passed out.

* * *

Petra did like Ferdinand, as loud and brash and assured in his rightness as he could sometimes be. He was genuine and enthusiastic, and was blessedly more open to new experiences than many of the arrogant nobles that he competed with. She remembered well how eager Ferdinand was to learn the fighting styles of her homeland, so much more centered around speed and close-quarter guerrilla tactics than the slow cavalry and magic artillery of Adrestia. Ardior had even showed Embrienne some ways she could use her small size and agility in combat.

“I will be honest, I do prefer the safety of my capsule during combat,” Embrienne had said afterwards, as their humans rested against their weaponry. “But I had not even considered the possibility that my small size could be an asset in battle. Ardior, is this how you have managed to be so swift and stealthy, even though you are a large white goose?” 

Ardior nodded. “It is. We do not have the battle mages in Brigid that the Empire is having, and our fighting techniques are at close range. This means that daemons are close to the fighting as well, and so it is of much importance that they are learning to fight alongside us.”

“You have clearly spent much time honing your skills, as much time as Petra has with her fists and knives. The Empire—no, Fodlan at large—would benefit greatly from learning fighting techniques alongside you.” She swooped down then back up, a midair bow, and echoed the words that Ferdinand himself said to Petra. “Ardior, I hope that we will be a shining example of cooperation between our two nations for generations to come!”

So yes, Ferdinand was open and genuine. He truly desired to learn and shed the ignorance that Petra had come to realize was a defining trait of the Fodlanese nobility—and Fodlan at large. That, in turn, made Petra want to share with Ferdinand and teach him. Like Dorothea, and all of her other classmates, he made her feel like a person and not a street corner performance. 

_ “Or worse,” _ Ardior added, _ “exotic.” _

There were a lot of feelings and words here that Petra was still grasping the shape of, and didn’t have the vocabulary for, not even in her native tongue. But what she did know was that although Ferdinand was eager and earnest, he started from a place of such incredibly well-meaning ignorance that teaching him otherwise was sometimes exhausting. 

Like right now. 

“Petra, please,” he practically begged. “These room searches clearly have you distraught for a specific reason, but I do not understand why. Professor Byleth searched everybody’s room, which is why Bernadetta is currently taking refuge in the greenhouse. I understand that the monks have been performing random secondary searches but—“

“You really think they’re random, Ferdie? Are you really that ignorant?”

Petra couldn’t help but be a bit grateful for Dorothea’s furious presence by her side. She was beautiful in her sharp understanding and indignation as much as her face and voice. 

“Dorothea, why would they not be random? Petra was not the only one whose room was searched. I saw the monks in Claude’s quarters, and have heard that they searched Ashe and Dedue’s rooms as well.”

So they weren’t even trying to be subtle about it. That coiled deep within Petra, sent Ardior’s feathers bristling. Did they offer Claude a mask of respect due to his status or did they ransack his room just like hers? Dorothea rolled her eyes. “Petra, Claude, Ashe, and Dedue. Do you really not see the connections among them?”

“I…” Ferdinand furrowed his brows in confusion, and Embrienne flew in equally bewildered tight circles around his head. “Petra, you are the heir to the throne of Brigid. Ashe is a commoner adopted by nobility. Dedue is Duscurian, yes, but he is also Dimitri’s personal vassal and close friend. Claude is to be the next duke of the Leicester Alliance. Clearly there is a commonality that you are seeing but I am not. Dorothea, Petra, please help me.”

Embrienne landed onto his nose. “You have taught me that I am embarrassingly ignorant of the world outside the nobility. I am sure that the answer is shamefully obvious and yet I am not sure if I can see it by myself. But I want to understand.”

She could feel Ardior’s resigned sigh in the back of her mind. Ferdinand truly wanted to understand, but having to explain to him just why it was wrong for the monks to tear through her basket of pelts was not something she wanted to do at the moment. But she had to. But just as Petra opened her mouth, Dorothea again beat her to the punch. 

“Come on Ferdie, can’t you see just how exhausted Petra is? You’re pestering her, just like a bee.”

Petra could see the perfect O Ferdinand’s mouth made when he got it, the way shame flushed his face. “...Of course. You are absolutely right Dorothea, I am intruding. My behavior has been untoward and absolutely disgraceful. Petra, please forgive my utterly ignoble actions. I will not disturb you any further on this subject.”

And with that he retreated to his room, Embrienne apologizing the entire way. 

Dorothea scoffed. “Honestly! Ferdie is such a bullheaded idiot sometimes.”

“He is being...is quite enthusiastic, yes, but Ferdinand is truly wishing to learn, so it is okay. Dorothea, I do not think that Ferdinand is as bad a man as you are making him out to be. Although today it is...difficult, for me to be teaching him. I am very tired, in my heart.”

Indeed, Ardior was drooped, for lack of a better word. His wings and head were lowered, just a bit, but they were always tall and strong. Calphour fluttered down and perched on his back, leaning into his neck, a comforting presence. “I can’t even imagine, Ardi. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t completely lose it on Ferdie or Embry back there.”

The chuckle from Ardior was soft and low. “Ferdinand is not deserving of my anger. And even if he is, I cannot...I am not allowed to be angry. I am a guest of the Empire, and a princess of Brigid. I am being the...the face of Brigid, here in Fodlan, and Fodlan is not liking foreigners. So I am having to be a gracious guest, always.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Calphour spat. Ardior didn’t say anything but merely nodded. 

Dorothea stared at Petra in fury at her situation, and Petra felt a surge of pride, and gratitude, and...something else. She was grateful, truly, but at the same time...ah, she did not even know how to say this even her native tongue! “Dorothea, I have gratitude for you helping me, but you do not need to be fighting all my battles for me. I am wanting you to be my...my friend,” was that truly all she wanted? “And standing at my side, but not always as my guard.”

Petra watched as Dorothea played her hands through her hair, as Calphour groomed the patch of feathers on Ardior’s neck that the snow goose daemon could never quite reach. “You’re right, Petra. But it makes me so angry to see them treat you like a savage, and even angrier when you can’t even show how you really feel about it! And the Mystical Songstress has pull with the nobility that the Princess of Brigid should have but doesn’t because they’re all garbage. I want to help you Petra, but only as much as you want me to.” Calphour settled down against Ardior’s back with a little sigh of contentment. “I want to do this, because I care about you.”

Suddenly, the mental image sprang into Petra’s mind, fully formed. Dorothea standing on a sparkling Brigidian beach, her long auburn hair—beautiful, beautiful—woven into Brigidian braids, Calphour and Ardior nestled together in the broad-leaved trees of her home. 

_ Oh. _

Dorothea leaned against Petra, soft and warm, with a soft smile just for her. Petra leaned into that contact and smiled back.

* * *

“Sothis, I thought you said not to abuse your Divine Pulse?”

_ “Yes, and I’m also telling you this isn’t abusing it. That bastard harassed our students!” _

“It is tempting,” Belial growled. Byleth also felt a flash of wild satisfaction at the thought of tearing open the monk who dared to ransack Petra’s room and harass Dedue, then turning back time and doing it again. And again. The sword seemed to glow brighter in her hand at the thought. 

“Byleth, I like this idea.”

Okay, it was a good idea. Especially since Rhea and Seteth were so panicked over Flayn’s disappearance that they were in no condition to listen to her complaints. Just where was Flayn, anyway? After speaking with Edelgard and Hubert, they had come to the terrifying conclusion that she most likely had been kidnapped. And whomever abducted her probably wanted to use her for...something. Linhardt speculated that her Major Crest was involved, but couldn’t conclude more than that. And after _ that_, Caspar basically glued himself to his best friend’s side, since Linhardt had the same minor crest. Though that was probably for the best, since Caspar was far too loud and brash to do any real sleuthing work. 

So far the only real lead was Jeritza (Shamir was under suspicion simply by dint of being a foreigner until Catherine _ very forcefully _curtailed the accusations, Hanneman wouldn’t go that far, and so forth), but it was a strong one. The combat instructor was as antisocial as his wolverine daemon would suggest, even more hostile towards social interaction than Felix. He was good at sword fighting, fast and brutal and efficient, and Byleth itched to spar with him. Wooden blades, because live ones would likely end with one of them maimed or dead. 

_ “Which I don’t think he’d mind,” _ Sothis mused. Also, there was the issue of the mask. 

All this was to say that Byleth was not particularly surprised when Caspar burst in, shouting, “Professor! Professor, I just heard a scream coming from Jeritza’s room!”

The fur on Thanily’s back stood straight up, and Avarine clenched her talons deep into Edelgard’s shoulder pauldron. “Why am I not surprised,” Hubert muttered to himself, so softly that only Belial caught it, and even then just barely. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll split up and get the students. I’ll get Bernadetta and everyone in the greenhouse and by the fishing pond. Meet up in fifteen minutes.” With that, Belial raced off. Everybody in the monastery knew about their ability to separate, so it didn’t matter anymore. And they had to hurry, well they were always unsettling. 

The Eagles has all gathered by Jeritza’s room in ten minutes. And when Caspar kicked open the door, Puccini was there to meet them. Manuela’s lemur daemon slumped against the molding of the door, just barely holding himself upright. Behind him lay Professor Manuela, curled up in a puddle of her own blood. 

“...Bookcase,” Puccini muttered. And then he passed out. 

“Professor Manuela!” Caspar and Edelgard were already at her side, lifting her up as more blood seeped out of the wound. “Linhardt! Is she dead?!”

“Of course she’s not; Puccini is right here.” That was Runilite, nosing her unconscious daemon who was, in fact, very solid and present. Linhardt didn’t say anything, because he was swaying on his feet, trying not to pass out from the sight of her blood while trying to patch her up with a healing spell. 

“Oh, right.”

There was a shout, and two sets of racing footsteps. Hanneman was behind Dorothea, his eyes wide in shock. Dorothea looked like she was about to burst into tears. “What is the meaning of... Wait, is that Manuela? What happened here?”

Edelgard looked up from where Linhardt was busy closing her wounds. “We know as much as you do. She needs to be taken to the infirmary.”

“Yes, of course–and quickly. Give me a hand, child.”

“Understood. I'll support her head. Professor, I'll be back shortly. Please don’t wait for me.”

Byleth reached out to Edelgard’s shoulder, the one on which Avarine was not perched. “Do you think you should...?” She motioned to the beautiful white gyrfalcon daemon, the one who could separate from Edelgard just like her and Belial. 

“I…” Avarine hunched down against Edelgard’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my teacher. I can’t.”

Left unsaid, hanging in the air, was Avarine’s silent plea, _ “Please don’t take me away from Edelgard.” _

_ “You humans and your daemons,” _ Sothis said, a fond note in her voice despite everything going on around them. 

Byleth nodded, Edelgard and Hanneman scooped up Manuela, Avaraine grabbed Puccini in her talons, and they raced off. 

“This has to be Flayn’s kidnapper, isn’t it?” Dorothea was shaking, Calphour a puffed-up tiny ball of rage darting around her head. Petra placed a hand on her shoulder, and Dorothea leaned into that comfort with a sniffle of restrained tears. 

“I do not see any other possibility. Do not worry Dorothea; we shall apprehend this monster and bring him to justice!” Ferdinand’s attention flitted over to Embrienne, who hovered over by the bookcase. “Hm? Embrienne, what is it?”

Caspar already scrambled under the little bee daemon. “It’s a secret passageway! Come on everyone, here comes justice!”

The secret passageway led to even more secret passageways, which likely led to even more. 

Peakane swam to the edge of her backpack, just to get a closer look. “Woah, it’s like a whole maze in here!” Caspar shouted, possibly just to hear himself echo. 

“Quiet!”

“Oh, right, sorry Lin.” Caspar lowered his voice to a “normal” speaking volume, which was still a whisper to him. “I bet these secret tunnels go on forever! Do you think there could be a whole town under here?”

Hubert had to scoff at that. “Do you truly think the Archbishop would allow a town to exist underneath the monastery?”

Byleth couldn’t really argue with that. 

The banter was broken by the sound of Belial racing back as fast as their paws could take them. “There’s a large chamber up ahead with strange tiles on the floor, and at least a dozen guards. There’s a room in the center, and I think it’s being guarded by the—”

A low sinister laugh echoed through the passageway, the voice sounding like it was filtered through a raspy mask. “You’re after the girl, are you not? And that sword...One of us will die, the other will live. I will enjoy this dance of damnation.”

“It’s that jerk we fought at the Holy Mausoleum!”

Ferdinand readied his halberd. “We shall rescue Flayn and I shall bring that despicable man to justice, for—”

_ The Death Knight ran Ferdinand through, that wickedly curved lance erupting from his back, with all the ease of someone swatting a fly. _

Byleth and Hubert’s hands shot out at the same time, grabbed Ferdinand by his jacket. 

“Ferdinand you imbecile, our mission is to rescue Flayn, not duel the aptly-named Death Knight.”

“Ferdinand, I absolutely forbid it!”

As before, in the Holy Mausoleum, only the urgency of the situation and the expression on Byleth’s face kept Ferdinand from launching into another impromptu impassioned speech. “Very well,” he muttered, in a tone that implied he would have Opinions to express later. 

“Linhardt!” Caspar’s shout drew their attention; the sleepy young man was nowhere to be seen. “Professor, Lin just stepped on that weird tile and vanished!”

“I’m right here,” he corrected, out of sight beyond the nearby wall. “These appear to be warp points.” There was a pause. “Also, Runilite hears people in heavy armor nearby, so some backup might be useful around now?”

“Go with Linhardt and Caspar,” Belial growled to Byleth. “I can direct everyone else.”

“We’ll reunite at the entrance to that center structure,” Byleth said, nodding to her daemon. “Everyone hurry.”

There was no tug of separation when Belial was out of sight, no sense of yearning or loss. There never was. But now there was concern. She couldn’t see Belial, or her students. And she couldn’t see through Belial’s eyes the way...everyone else could, to one extent or another. There were instincts honed by battle, and now Sothis relaying information between the two, but would that still work even at this distance?

_ “You know, you could always ask,” _Sothis said, her voice clear as always above the din of battle. Byleth pulled her sword free in a gout of blood that nearly hit Linhardt, much to his disgust. Several feet ahead, Caspar picked up an axe and slammed it into the chest of a soldier. He cried out, and his daemon was dust before he hit the floor. 

Who were these soldiers, who fought under an unknown banner and died so easily to her students, her pups growing to be wolves and eagles of their own? 

_ “It doesn’t matter, they have Flayn.” _

“You’re right,” Byleth muttered. There were screams, horrified shouts at the unnatural sight of a human without her daemon, but she and Caspar and even occasionally Linhardt made quick work of them.

And then there was the room in the center, and the Death Knight, and two unconscious women (one was Flayn, who was the other?). And...Oh no…

“Hubert!” Belial looked up from a fallen bat daemon, whose neck they crushed between their jaws, and raced towards the grim young man. 

Who was facing off with the Death Knight, Thanily’s fur bristled and teeth bared in a snarl.

“You should withdraw from here,” he said.

Slowly, like he was savoring every moment, the Death Knight drew his scythe. “I don’t take orders from you…”

More shouts. Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Dorothea, Petra, all four ran to stop Hubert from apparently committing suicide.But Hubert merely smirked. And then there was a flash of light, and a person clad in red robes and armor, their entire face concealed in a porcelain mask, appeared between the two. 

They had no daemon.

“Halt. You’re having a bit too much fun.”

The Death Knight...obeyed. Complained, rather than simply cut the interloper down. “You are getting in the way of my game.”

“Hmph. You’ll have more opportunities to play soon. Your work here is done.”

“Understood. I will go…”

And then the Death Knight teleported away as well. How did they keep doing that? So did the Flame Emperor, but not before they stared Byleth down, at eye level with her, with absolutely no comment on their shared lack of a daemon. “We will cross paths again. I am the Flame Emperor...It is I who will reforge the world.”

Ferdinand had already pushed past Hubert to scoop up Flayn and the other woman, but Embrienne hovered back to glare at Thanily. “We will have words later.”

Thanily simply rolled her eyes. “I simply cannot wait to hear whatever sewage spews from your mouth. Let’s just bring them up.” 

Edelgard was already in Jeritza’s room, slightly out of breath, Avarine perched on the bookcase. “You found Flayn? Where?!”

“Ah, you missed the most important part of the mission! It was up to Professor Byleth and Belial to lead us!” Ferdinand crowed in pride. “We have successfully found Flayn, as well as another unknown girl!, and identified the culprits!”

“Yeah, but that Death Knight and the Flame Emperor guy got away,” Bernadetta added behind the protective shield of her classmates, and Malecki over her face. 

“It’s okay, you did an admirable job regardless. All that matters is Flayn’s safety, right Professor?”

Edelgard was right. That was all that mattered. They did it. They rescued Flayn, and all of her students were safe. Nobody died. It all went...perfectly. Was this relief?

“Professor? Is that...a smile?”

She turned to Belial. Was that the light floaty feeling in her chest? The way her cheeks pleasantly stretched? 

Edelgard returned that tiny smile. “Heh. You look...happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

It was nice. She could get used to it.

* * *

Flayn, pale and bruised but wonderfully, gloriously alive, had not left the safety of Seteth’s cloak and presence since their reunion. Seteth’s sobs of sheer relief as he embraced his younger sister, Flayn’s soft murmur of, “It’s okay, I’m okay. They didn’t...I’m still here. All of me,” still rang in Byleth’s mind.

_ “Or Seteth isn’t allowing Flayn to leave,” _ Sothis said. _ “So much for that conversation with Dad; he’ll never let Flayn out of sight after this. Place your bets: what extremes do you think Seteth will go to? My money is on a giant version of the bell-collar thing that cats wear!” _

Byleth could sort of see the hazy mental image. But was Sothis asking her or Belial to think up an equally ludicrous overreaction? She tried, she really did, but nothing. “Sorry,” she said with a shrug. 

_ “Boo, you’re no fun.” _

She then shut up and leaned back in Byleth’s mind, because Seteth had opened his mouth to speak, possibly more to break the awkward silence while they waited for Rhea to arrive. 

His voice, though composed as ever, was rough with recently-shed tears. “Please, allow me to express my eternal gratitude once more. Flayn is safe and sound, and I have you to thank for that. Mere words could never express how thankful I am. I...I am indebted to you.”

It wasn’t just her though. “I couldn't have done it without the students. And we’re all just happy that she’s safe.”

Seteth held Flayn a little tighter. “Yes, of course. I shall express my gratitude to the students as well. Words cannot state how overjoyed I am.”

_ “But why was Flayn taken to begin with?” _ Sothis asked. Byleth echoed her thoughts out loud. 

Seteth’s relief was submerged in a sudden wave of anger. “Her kidnapper was the masked knight who vanished during the Rite of Rebirth. The one known as the Death Knight. Jeritza has already fallen under suspicion, and Hubert of all people provided documentation that all but confirmed his true identity.”

“But what about that other masked person who intervened? The Flame Emperor?”

_ “Flame Emperor, Death Knight, someone’s being grandiose!” _

Seteth shook his head. “I am not sure, but I do have an idea. I believe they may have been after Flayn's blood. The blood that flows through her veins is extremely rare...and extremely dangerous. My blood is also rare, but Flayn can not defend herself like I can. If enemies who know her secret have appeared, then our only option is to leave the monastery and go into hiding.”

What? Just hide Flayn away from the world for the rest of her life?

_ “Okay that’s, wow, that’s drastic. I should have seen that coming.” _

For the first time in hours, Flayn sparked to life. She pulled herself out from under Seteth’s cloak and ran closer to Byleth’s side. “Brother, wait! I am sorry, but I cannot. I will not. I do not wish to live in some lonely, remote location where I never get to see anyone. Not ever again.”

Sothis was also shocked at the suggestion, if the way she surged forward in Byleth’s head was any indication _ “Again? Just how long have you been hiding Flayn in a little bubble? For crying out loud, just let the child live!” _

Seteth appeared to be unmoved. “If we stay here, you may be targeted again! Wouldn't it be better for the two of us to live in peace?”

“Brother, what you describe is surviving, but it is not living! I am not your daemon, tethered to your side.” She looked around frantically, trying to grasp onto a persuasive argument that would convince even Seteth. “Even if we ran off to some new, secret location, there is no guarantee that they would not find us.” Flayn’s gaze locked on Byleth and Belial, and her eyes widened. “Brother, you are only one man, and not as strong as you once were. I believe it would be safest to stay in the monastery, where we are surrounded by capable knights and professors!”

Seteth played his fingers along the edge of his cape, conflicted. 

_ “That’s our cue,” _ Sothis started to say, but Belial had already stepped forward and opened their mouth.

“What if Flayn joins my class as a student? She’ll learn alongside the rest of the Eagles and be under my direct supervision.”

Flayn clapped her hands in delight, as if she wasn’t about to say the same thing herself. “Ah, Professor, that is a wonderful idea! Under your guidance, I shall be safe no matter what foe should appear!”

Seteth was still uncertain, so Byleth went in for the kill. She took a step forward, flanking the older man along with Belial. “Seteth, do you remember your conversation with my dad?”

Seteth closed his eyes, and that was it. “...You are right. Professor... Due to my position, I have closely scrutinized everything about you. After all that has happened, I must admit that, despite your...eccentricities and limitations, you are indeed...a trusted ally. Can I entrust you with Flayn's safety?”

_ “Of course you can!” _Sothis shouted in time with Byleth and Belial. 

“She’s one of my students now. It would be my pleasure.”

Both Seteth and Flayn smiled; combinations of joy and relief. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Professor Byleth! I promise you shall not regret this! Although I wonder about the other girl who was rescued alongside me. I was isolated or unconscious throughout the majority of my ordeal, so I do not know when she was found, but she was wearing the academy uniform. Could she be another student?”

“Her name is Monica von Ochs,” said Rhea, serene as ever as she glided into the chamber. “She was a student here last year who went missing just before graduation. We thought she had simply dropped out and ran away, but to imagine she was kidnapped this entire time…” The archbishop shuddered. 

_ “WHAT?!” _ Sothis shrieked, loud and echoing enough to make Byleth flinch and Belial press their ears flat against their head. _ “Are you fucking kidding me?! One of your students went missing and you did NOTHING?! What the fuck kind of boarding school is this? Come send your precious children to the Garreg Mach Monastery Officer’s Academy, where we can make absolutely no guarantees for their safety! Will they graduate? Will they get a bandit’s axe to the face? Will they be ordered to kill friends and family because denying the archbishop is apparently a capital offense? Will they vanish in the endless sewers beneath the monastery, never to return? Only the Goddess knows!” _

Rhea was still talking, her words lost in Sothis’s silent sarcastic screams. Sothis was still ranting in Byleth’s head. “Monica has asked to rejoin the Black Eagles House.”

“Wait, so I’d teach her as well?” Did Monica have any combat skills of note? She’d have to figure out some way to quickly side her and Flayn into lesson plans. 

“Yes, but only in a few lectures and seminars. Given her ordeal, we think it is best for her transition back to student life to be as smooth as possible.”

_ “Finally, some sense! Was that so hard?” _

Byleth simply nodded. “I’ll take care of her.

And Rhea was as serene and beatific as ever. “I have utmost faith in you, Professor.”

* * *

Petra invited Claude. _ Petra invited Claude. _

_ “Honestly we should have seen this coming,” _ said Avarine across their bond, and Edelgard was inclined to agree. Claude was sympathetic to their ideals, significantly more so than Dimitri. He was the kind of person who would want to know more about the Fuck Crests Club regardless, if only to suss her out. 

Edelgard had no illusions about her ability to politick. She was competent, sure, intelligent and able to see the whole chessboard, as it were (although Edelgard never particularly enjoyed chess. She was good at it, sure, but it was all kings and bishops sending their pawns to die, and for what? All the pawns needed to do was realize their own power, turn around, and the board would be theirs in a single turn). But she was aggressive and tended to be single-minded. And how could she not? She had a couple decades at most to tear down the rot permeating Fodlan and create a better future for those who died and those yet to be born under its yoke. She didn’t have time for the subtle intricacies of smoke-filled rooms. Let Hubert deal with them. Perhaps Ferdinand, in those wildest moments of hope that she dared allow herself as of late. 

And as for the other supposed future rulers of Fodlan? Dimitri was almost endearing in his simple single-mindedness, with no true direction or ambition. She liked him, in some fashion (and didn’t they know each other? Those years were carefully blocked off in her mind for the sake of her sanity, but she thought they did), but a boar truly was the most appropriate form for Delcabia. She’d have to avoid a goring, but as long as she did that Dimitri would be easily evaded or pushed aside. 

Claude, on the other hand…

Well. There was shrewd, and then there was _ Claude_. The next grand duke of the Alliance may have fooled everyone else with his carefree prankster attitude, may have fallen for his misdirection of where he schemed, but not Edelgard and Avarine. A man with obvious Almyran heritage, and a viper daemon no less, appearing out of nowhere to secure himself as the legitimate Riegan heir and the next grand duke of the Alliance? Claude was not merely a master of diplomacy, he was _ dangerous_. 

“Only dangerous as an enemy, El,” Avarine whispered in her ear as she set the tables. They had needed a second one after that incredibly successful first meeting to seat everyone comfortably, and now Ingrid, Sylvain, Claude, Marianne, and Monica were joining.

“I wouldn’t rely on him as a trusted ally either. And especially not Monica, for that matter.” Something about Monica set her on edge, set Avarine watching both the young woman and her cuckoo daemon like, well, a hawk. Monica von Ochs had vanished last year, and she did look like the Monica von Ochs sitting before Edelgard with a cup of tea and an eager smile. Monica was unsettled before she was abducted; Edelgard knew just how traumatizing settling under such stressful circumstances was. And yet the whole situation felt...off. 

No time to dwell on it now though. People were arriving in groups of two and three. Dorothea waved down Sylvain and Ingrid, whose alligator daemon sat a respectful distance away with a somewhat uncertain expression. She was sitting next to Petra, and Calphour was not perched on Dorothea’s hat like usual but on Ardior’s snow-white back. Marianne sat far away from everyone else, curled up around an equally curled-up Penumbrior. Hilda of all people was unexpectedly there, someone for Marianne to quite literally lean on. And Claude was also present, Simurg loosely draped around his neck, complete with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Edelgard herself sat at the head of the table, Avarine on her shoulder, Hubert to her left and Byleth to her right. Her teacher was taking notes like before, but…

Well, they’d help her figure out what to say, just as before. 

This session of the Fuck Crests Club started off well enough. Now that Flayn was rescued and Sylvain was present the topic turned to the story of Miklan and his disinheritance. Or, it would have, but one look at Sylvain’s hand clenched against his arm, one look at Albarrog curled protectively around a bristle-tailed Zepida, and they changed the subject. 

“It sounds like this is a cycle,” Claude said. “People grow up believing that they have to inflict pain on the next generation for the sake of society as a whole, because they had that lesson forced upon them, and so it goes from past, present, and future. I wonder who first decided that Fodlan should be like this, and if they knew what the lasting effects would be?”

Monica giggled. “Either way, things are so entrenched that we’ll have to fight our way out!”

_ That _ got peoples’ attention. Human and daemon alike whipped around to stare at her. Marianne went white, Penumbrior a tight little ball in her arms. Hilda’s open face instantly went into a death glare directed at Monica and her innocent-seeming cuckoo daemon. Sylvain and Ingrid, Dorothea and Petra, both pairs exchanged nervous glances with each other. Claude’s easy smile froze on his face, and Simurg vanished inside his cape. 

The world slowed to a trickle; Edelgard’s pulse pounded in her ears. This was all going wrong. Yes, force was the only option left, but Edelgard was playing a delicate dance here, and Monica just decided to stomp all over it!

_ “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” _ Only years of discipline and fear kept Avarine rooted to her shoulder instead of mantling her wings with a screech, or launching at that cuckoo daemon’s throat. And by the way Thanily bared her teeth, Hubert felt the same.

Monica did not shut up. She stroked her daemon’s head and continued, “I mean, the crests were gifts from the Goddess, right? So if we’re gonna tear down society, that means we’ve got to tear down the Goddess and the Church too! Isn’t that right, Edie?”

That was Dorothea’s affectionate nickname for her, and it was filthy in Monica’s mouth. 

That was open blasphemy, open sedition right in the center of the monastery. And they all remembered what happened to Lord Lonato.

“I apologize for Monica. We’re done for today.”

“Yeah, I think we’re done here.” Hilda helped a horrified Marianne to her feet as they both beat a speedy retreat. Claude wasn’t far behind them. The intrigued Deer, frightened off, because of Monica.

“Claude, wait.” Edelgard jogged to catch up with the young man, fully aware that she was on the defensive and furious with herself for it. “About that—“

“Edelgard.” Claude’s false smile was a little fainter, and Simurg was mostly hidden away under his academy uniform. Only her broad head was visible, unblinking and fixed on Avarine. “You disappoint me. I would have thought you more subtle at continental destabilization. Or have you never heard the proverb about waving around raw meat in a lion’s den?

“Why Claude, are you implying that the church is not to be trusted?” Edelgard fumbled, struggling to get back on solid footing. This was all going wrong, just as she thought it would before reaching out for foolish hope.

Claude winked, actually winked. “Your words, not mine. Just a hint, Princess: Best to lead people down the path of secrets and let them come to their own conclusions rather than force-feeding them. Especially when it’s something that’s dangerous to eat.”

“Hm, that’s a lot of food metaphors,” Simurg added, all false levity. “But I think you get the point. Best of luck, Princess.”

Claude flashed a casual wave as he sauntered off, and Edelgard knew he wouldn’t be back. Neither would Ingrid, Hilda or Marianne, most likely. Monica had come on too strong, scared them off too badly. 

_ Monica. _

Edelgard stalked over to the young woman, who leaned against a nearby wall, soaking in the sun and the scene with a mild smile on her face. It broadened as Edelgard approached and said, every word clipped with fury, “That was deliberate. Why?” Avarine’s talons dug so deeply into her shoulder pauldrons that even under the thick leather it almost hurt. 

Monica’s cuckoo daemon matched Avarine’s gaze, and Monica herself flashed a brilliant smile that was nothing but teeth. “Aw, Edie, I was just telling everyone exactly what you meant! It’s so important not to mince words, isn’t it?”

That was a lie, and they both knew it. Monica did it on purpose, to frighten away potential allies and...no. _ Oh no. _

“Who are you, really?”

“You’re not Monica at all!”

Monica’s only response to their simultaneous questions was to laugh, high and bubbly and fake. “Oh Edie. Edie, Edie, Edie. Don’t you know that you only have one true ally around here? You really should remember your place.”

“Monica” patted her cheek, so close to Avarine that she had to step off Edelgard’s shoulder to avoid contact. That shiny-eyed cuckoo daemon sat comfortably on Monica’s shoulder and preened himself, completely unashamed. 

“Well Edie, I’ll see you around! Toodles!” “Monica” flounced off, leaving Edelgard and Avarine in the bright autumn sun, nauseous and alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for being patient and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Although it seems like White Clouds is going similar as to canon, some of you have already noticed the changes brewing underneath, getting closer and closer to boiling over by the day...
> 
> See you all next time, whether it be for a drabble, a chapter, or whatever! I'm going to bed. I'm so sorry if there are typoes; I'll fix them tomorrow. 
> 
> Humans and daemons:
> 
> Jeritza: Unnamed female wolverine  
"Monica": Unnamed male cuckoo
> 
> Also, there is currently a fan charity effort called Fandom Trumps Hate going on--I recommend you check it out! _Absolutely no money will go to any authors; it all goes DIRECTLY to charity!_


	14. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand gets A Clue, Hilda _really_ gets A Clue, and Hubert messes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! I've got a lot of stuff coming down the pipeline so watch this space. As always, please comment/like/subscribe, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: Brief mention of suicidal behavior, more racism, non-consensual daemon touching, and self-blaming. 
> 
> This is a rough one, people.

“I mean, mostly I’m just glad that Flayn is safe. Maybe now things will finally go back to normal and I can just worry about normal things, like talking to people. Or this mock battle! Not getting impaled by kidnapping murderers pretending to be professors! Can you believe that _ Jeritza _ was the Death Knight?!”

Bernadetta heard the soft thump of Ferdinand sitting back against the other side of her door as he spoke. “I sincerely hope that is the end of it. However, I am concerned that it might not be. Bernadetta, did you hear what that masked villain calling themselves the Flame Emperor said?”

“No? Because I was really really far away from the Death Knight? Just to fire my bow, of course!”

She winced, waiting for a mocking laugh or something of the sort, but...there was none. Ferdie probably wouldn’t do that to her, but it was still a surprise every time. Instead Ferdinand said, “The Flame Emperor quite explicitly said that we would cross paths again.”

“Oh nooooo!” Bernadetta buried her face in Malecki’s soft belly. “We’re doomed! We’re done for! We’re dead!”

“We are not doomed!” That was the sound of his hand against the door, and Bernie placed her own up to where she heard the muffled sound. “After all, such ruffians are no match for me! And the professor is an excellent instructor who clearly has our safety as her highest priority. We shall not come to any harm as long as she is around!”

But what if the professor wasn’t around? The school year was over half done, and then they’d graduate and then what if the Death Knight or Flame Emperor went and hunted them down one by one or, “Ferdie, how are you so confident all the time?!”

Now his soft chuckle floated through the door. It sounded sort of...sad? If she listened really closely she could almost hear the sound of Embrienne buzzing through the wooden door. “I wish I were as consistently confident as you claim me to be. I have always strived to be a paragon of the nobility—no, of all humanity—and to surpass even Edelgard herself in leadership and ability. After all, I have been trained in Empire diplomacy and politics for far longer than her. However, I found my previously held convictions...challenged, as of late.”

Embrienne picked up where Ferdinand left off. “Perhaps this is an unspoken purpose of the Academy, to expose us nobles to different perspectives. But it is still troubling, and sometimes uncomfortable to the point of pain, to have my beliefs so thoroughly rejected and my ignorance in certain subjects so embarrassingly exposed.”

She’d heard that tone before. “Ferdinand, what happened?” Did he and Dorothea fight again? Mal curled up at the thought. Oh no this was all her fault. She and Dorothea were friends, but she was also courting Ferdinand and Dorothea _ hated _ Ferdinand. Oh, thoughtless selfish Bernie, forcing her friend to be around someone she hated what kind of friend was she?

She must have said something out loud, or at least made some noise of distress, because the next thing she heard was Ferdinand taking a loud, exaggerated breath through the door, and Embrienne’s calm recitation of, “In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” Deep breaths, just like the first time he tried to calm her panic, but they were both so much better at it now. She echoed Ferdinand and Embrienne’s instructions, could feel Malecki slowly uncurl in her hands in time with her slowing heart. Fealt the panic lift just enough for her to listen to what Ferdinand was saying. The fear was still there, of course, but it was quieter now, more easily set off to the side. 

“It is not your fault,” he said. “I was talking with Dorothea and Petra, who were quite agitated over the monks searching our rooms.”

“The monks searched our rooms too?!” Oh no, Professor Byleth looking through her room was stressful enough, but hearing that one of the staff went in there while she was gone? What did they see? Oh no no no, did they see the dolls she made? Did they think they were dumb? Were they going to tell her father about them?!

“They did not search yours!” Feridnand said hastily, cutting through her rapidly-spiraling thoughts. “In truth, that is the source of the issue. The monks specifically searched only a few rooms: those of Petra, Ashe, Claude, and Dedue. I fail to see any connection among our four classmates, but both Petra and Dorothea claim that this was a targeted search by the church institution, and both were quite agitated over it. Neither Petra nor Dorothea would fabricate such accusations, but I still cannot see any commonality here, and Petra was too upset over being searched a second time to discuss it further.” 

Oh. That's probably what happened, Ferdie wanted to know so badly he pushed against Petra’s boundaries. “And then Dorothea needed to tell you to back off?” Mal asked from her lap, able to say what they both thought but she couldn’t.

“You have the right of it,” Embrienne replied. “But I still cannot understand why the church would suspect those four of our fellow students in particular.”

A few days ago Bernie wouldn’t have understood either. But now the memory of Dedue in the greenhouse floated through her mind. “Um, Ferdie, when you were growing up, what did your parents have to say about people outside Fodlan?”

She could hear Embry’s angry buzzing back and forth as Ferdinand said, “They, along with far too much of the nobility, have the most vile opinions that have only become more disgraceful in hindsight now that I have personally met and befriended many foreigners. They would call the people of Dagda and Brigid savages and worse, and they are wrong! I daresay that Petra has a more noble soul than most of the titled and landed gentry in all Adrestia!”

_ “And if he knew about our father…” _ But she wasn’t quite certain how that conversation would go, wasn't quite ready to discuss it yet. She had told Ferdinand as much, and he had agreed to let the topic lie until she was ready to bring it up again. So instead Bernie said, “She is. But a lot of people don’t see that, because she’s from Brigid. And Dedue is from Duscur. And I...Claude looks a lot like Cyril, and Cyril is from Almyra, right? And we all know about Ashe.”

“It...They…” Ferdinand actually trailed off, at a loss for words. “Was that the reason? Was it truly something so petty as that? There is no logic in such, such open discrimination! In fact, such a myopic viewpoint likely only served to hamper the investigation!”

Embrienne wailed through the door, “Oh Ferdinand, we are such utter fools! Petra and Dorothea had every right to be utterly furious at the naked bias and disrespect thrown her way, and we were too blind to see it! We must apologize to them at once! Bernadetta, Malecki, thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

Was he leaving? Right now? Oh, she felt awful doing this she shouldn’t be at all but, “Uh, Ferdinand? Maybe you should, um, not run over to apologize right now?”

“...You are right once again, Bernadetta. It would be best to take concrete steps to ensure I do not repeat such behavior before I go to apologize, just like when I spoke with you.”

“Y-yeah! And, uh, there’s something else. It’s, um, when I was in the greenhouse with Dedue…”

She told him what happened, all of it. Well, almost all of it. The part with Dimitri was way too scary to even think about again, much less discuss it. Honestly she wasn’t even sure she hadn’t dreamt up the whole thing. But even the rest of it was almost painful to talk about, and she definitely cried a little bit just recounting the awful things the greenhouse manager said to Dedue. Ferdinand was silent when she finished. And then Embrienne said, “I know you might not wish to see Ferdinand right now, but may I come in?”

They’d done this before too, once or twice—Embrienne would shimmy under the door to bump against Mal’s nose, the bee daemon’s version of a kiss before leaving that was less likely to leave poor Bernie a completely incoherent puddle in her room. But this time there was a little bit of extra softness in Embrienne’s voice. So instead...instead...

“Deep breaths Bernie. We can...we can do this!” Mal was in her hand, close to her heart, warm and small, the bearer of her hope. She clutched her daemon closer with one hand, and with the other slowly opened the door. 

The fear shot through her as the sunlight and the _ outside _ filtered in, so big and bright and scary. Her knees trembled as she looked up at Ferdinand, his eyes wide in surprise at her opening the door, Embrienne still and quiet on his nose. 

“Bernadetta,” he said, and oh that smile beamed like the sun. “That was incredibly brave of you. You should be proud of yourself, because I most certainly am.”

“R-really?” What was there to be proud of? She opened her door, anyone can do that, it wasn’t that great an accomplishment. Sure she stood up for Dedue, but she passed out after! She—

“Bernie,” Mal whispered, patting her hand with his paw. She sniffled and breathed deeply, shakily, letting a couple of held-in tears roll down her face as she tried to listen to Ferdinand.

“Of course I am proud of you. You faced your fears and protected someone who was unjustly attacked! And look at you now; you have opened your door to talk to me directly!”

“But these are easy things for other people to do!”

“Bernadetta, you are not other people. You are a sweet and funny girl with a warm heart. You are brilliant with your hands and a bow. You have your own struggles to bear that are not any lesser than anyone else’s. And what you did a few days ago and just now are great accomplishments. Would you have been able to open your door to speak with me directly even a few weeks ago?”

“N-no.”

“Precisely! Bernadetta, you have made such amazing strides in just a few months! Take pride in your accomplishments, for they are something to celebrate!”

“I, I guess…” He was right though; she never would have imagined doing this at the start of the year. Maybe she was getting better at leaving her room and talking to people! Mal sat up on her shoulder, proud as she said, “Y-yeah!”

They fell silent for a moment, that fond smile still on Ferdinand’s face and her own cheeks flaming from the blush and smile. And then Ferdinand blushed as well. “Bernadetta? May I kiss you?”

Bernie’s mind went blank, the only sound her heartbeat in her ears. That was a joke, it had to be a joke. Who would want to kiss Bernie? Nobody would want to kiss Bernie!

_ “Ferdie does, apparently,” _ Mal thought, his voice soft with wonder. 

Ferdie wanted to kiss her. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. All she could do was make some sort of squeaking noise and nod.

That was enough for Ferdinand to understand. His smile grew broader and his face flushed just a little bit more. They stepped inside her room, back into the privacy she needed, the door half-shut so as to minimize any untoward rumors (though he could close the door! It was okay, she always had her door closed but this was Ferdinand and so as long as she ducked behind the wood where none could see she was okay with the compromise). Bernadetta turned to place Malecki on her desk and there was Ferdinand, his warm broad fingers on her chin to guide her back to his amber gaze, his other warm hand settled around her waist, right on the band of her skirt (and _ that _ sent part of her mind spiraling to heated, terrifying, not-unpleasant places), and his face so close to hers. 

What should she do with her hands?! Another squeak escaped her throat as, unbidden, one rose to rest on _ his _ waist (warm and straight, none of that slight narrow and flare that her own waist developed over the past several years) and the other rose higher against his ribs. Feridnand’s smile was warm and bright and then his lips were on hers.

He was kissing her. _ Ferdinand was kissing her. _ His lips were warm and soft and just a little bit drier than her own, and they brushed against hers in a way that made her sigh against his mouth. Behind her, Malecki made a tiny happy noise as Embrienne nestled against the short fur on his head. She could feel Ferdinand smile against her lips, could hear his soft sigh, and that made her own racing heart slow and calm. 

Just as she was about to screw up the courage to part her lips, Ferdinand pulled away. His hand had moved to the side of his face, his fingers brushing against her ear and hair in a way that made her shudder. And he was smiling even wider. 

“Thank you so much for helping to open my eyes. You are absolutely lovely, do you know that?”

Goddess, she could say the same about him. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, and when she opened her mouth what actually came out was, “Can...can we do that again? Please? It was actually really nice…”

Ferdinand chuckled, low and warm and safe, and their daemons curled up together on the desk behind them both. “It would be my great pleasure.”

* * *

“Well that could have gone better.”

“Tell me about it.” Halmstadt stretched alongside Hilda, shook off the sweat from the sauna. Ah, that was nice. Nothing like a good steaming followed up by the bracing chill of the autumn air. “Ugh, we should have invited Marianne in with us.”

“Yeah, though she was never really a big fan of the sauna. And Claude is with her right now; she’ll be okay” Halmstadt was right though; she should go to town and pick up something to make it up to her. “Boy that ended up being a mess though. And Mari was so excited about it too, which just makes it super-unfair! Stupid Monica, causing trouble like that.”

“I hope Professor Byleth and the rest of the Eagles can help her out. I mean, poor Monica; she settled while she was kidnapped! I can’t even imagine what she must have gone through for all those months.” And settling as a _ cuckoo _ no less. Hilda glanced over to her own dear Halmstadt, his wings flashing a brilliant blue as they gently beat back and forth. He was a lovely blue butterfly, but hadn’t he very nearly settled as a cuckoo himself? 

Halmstadt flicked his wings, his version of a nod. “I almost did, but there was something not...right about it. It was years ago, but something about it felt kind of, like, twisted up inside? I can’t really explain it much better than that.”

“No, it’s fine. And honestly it makes sense. Monica acts all giggly and smiles, but she must be suppressing some serious trauma. Maybe the reason she said such scary things at the club was because of that? Like she was lashing out or something? People do that, right?”

Halmstadt fluttered up and down, uncertain. “I think they can? You think the Professor and Edelgard and all her classmates are looking out for her?”

“Sure hope so.” Should she tell the Professor about her worries? Eh, only if Professor Byleth asked. It was way too much effort otherwise, and there were more important things to worry about; this wasn’t her problem. But other things kind of were. “I’m just glad that Marianne’s feeling better.” That had been scary. She and Claude spent much of that evening doing damage control, Marianne was so terrified about what Monica had said and what that implied. She even got Ignatz and _ Lorenz _ to join in! Normally she’d have hated spending all that time trying to make someone else who was so scared feel better, but it was different with Marianne. Something about her, and Claude made her want to put in the effort, be...better somehow. 

Hilda still remembered how, a couple of weeks ago, Marianne had tried to give her some of her possessions—a dress they had bought together that would easily fit Hilda with a minimal amount of hemming, some accessories, things like that. And that had scared her and Halmstadt more than almost anything else. She and Claude had arranged an emergency meeting for all their classmates after that, and they banded together, all for Marianne. And that’s what they did now after that disastrous club meeting, her and Claude especially, helping to keep Marianne...well, not great, but better. Professor Manuela had spoken to Lady Rhea and procured some powdered herbs that were supposed to lift the mood. They seemed to help, a little bit. Marianne wasn’t quite as bleak or harsh on herself since taking the herbs, which was an incredible relief. She’d be there for her quiet friend. And so would Claude, and the rest of the Deer. Ignatz was actually with her right now; he’d said something to Hilda about sunsets, which she thought was just incredibly sweet. 

Claude…Now there was something she was having some uncomfortable thoughts and realizations about. Claude was half-Almyran, there was no hiding it, no explaining away his brown skin or curly dark hair. She wasn’t there for those heated roundtable arguments when he first showed up, but Holst and her parents came home with stories. And then her parents made their way down to the stables, where the horses were cared for by Almyran servants, and went hunting. 

The Almyrans attacked the Throat over and over again, and her family defended the Throat and took prisoners over and over again. Some of them were, like, really young, which was incredibly disturbing! Putting them to work was more humane than killing them, wasn’t it? They were just teenagers, and it showed just how inhumane the Almyrans were! 

But…

But that was just what she had learned growing up, sometimes without being told. It wasn’t her fault; it was the way things were growing up! But even before Monica ruined everything there were some pretty rough things people were hinting at in the club meeting (like, Sylvain really really didn’t want to talk about his past, and Sylvain was _ not okay _, not after what she saw what ruined what would have otherwise been a pretty damn good one night stand) and she heard the monks tearing apart Claude’s room. He had smiled and laughed it off, but Hilda knew Claude pretty well at this point and she could tell just how angry he had been. 

“And that Cyril kid is always avoiding us for some reason,” Halmstadt added as he landed on his shoulder, his wings brushing against her cheek. “Hilda, you don’t think…?”

“Oh no, oh _ fuck. _ ” Hilda slumped against the wall. Some great and terrible feeling, one too awful to name, welled up in her. Goddess, she wanted to fucking puke. Halmtadt landed on her head, those same horrible thoughts bouncing back and forth between them. “Halmstadt, are the Almyrans we captured...slaves? Does...does my family, like, keep _ slaves?!” _

“I don’t know!” Halmstadt flitted from her head to her shoulder to the wall back to her head again. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t know!”

“And then, like, weren’t there rumors popping up of there once being an Almyran with the Goneril crest? Oh Halmstadt, we really do keep slaves!” Her last word came out in a horrified hiss, too filthy to even say out loud. “Claude has to know; how can he even talk to us?!” 

“I don’t know! Hilda, what are we going to do about this?” 

“I...I…” Truth be told, she didn’t want to do anything about this. She wanted to slam the lid on the trunk of skeletons she just found in her family archives, or whatever, point was she just realized something awful about her family and she _ didn’t want to think about it_. Hilda truthfully wanted to do nothing more than slam the lid on it and run away and go back to five minutes ago when she didn’t realize or think about it at all.

But...she couldn't, could she. This was going to be one of those things that was too awful to ignore, wasn’t it. 

“We’re gonna have to do something about this, aren’t we,” Halmstadt whined. “Ugghhhh this is gonna be so much _ work!” _

Hilda groaned and tipped her head back against the wall. Ugh, Halmstadt was right. First Marianne, now Claude. She didn’t even know where to start with Claude. How could she possibly fix an entire family history of keeping slaves and all that other stuff? She didn’t even know where to begin! Ugh, just pretending she never thought about any of this would have been so much easier. 

But...nobody else was going to do it, were they? And, just like with Marianne, this might be something worth putting in the effort for. 

* * *

“There’s no mincing words, Hubert. I got cocky.” _ I got too hopeful. _ “I made a mistake.”

“I hate to be so direct with you, Lady Edelgard, but yes you did. Fortunately it appears that most people are chalking up “Monica’s” outburst as just that: an outburst, perhaps exacerbated by her months in captivity. So at least we don’t appear to have any suspicion directed at us for the time being.” 

“Well, at least we have that going for us.” Edelgard sighed and shifted in place. Though Hubert sat in a chair, Thanily paced back and forth in the space between them both, and Avarine fidgeted on her perch. “I should have realized much sooner that whomever that girl is, she’s not Monica. Honestly, I feel terrible for Baron and Baroness von Ochs. To spend months in anguish over their daughter’s disappearance, and then to hear that she’s alive?”

Avarine lowered herself into a hunting crouch, her wings flared out. “Only, this isn’t Monica at all, but one of those monsters in the dark wearing her face. The real Monica probably died all those months ago.”

Thanily’s fur flattened slightly, but she and Hubert were all business. As was Edelgard. As awful as that truth was, they needed to control the damage that “Monica” had done and figure out their next move. “Well,” Hubert said,”It’s clear that Those Who Slither In The Dark sent this false Monica specifically to keep us playing nice and isolated from the others.”

“And it’s working,” Edelgard growled. Flames, she _ hated _ this! She hated the complete loss of control, the everpresent reminder that she was bound and at their mercy, nothing more than a puppet dancing on their string. After all they did to her and her siblings and so many others, and she still wasn’t free. “We can’t continue the Fuck Crests Club, not while she’s around. She knows where it is, and there’s no hiding it.”

_ “They will burn for what they did, El.” _

_ “Not soon enough.” _

“Do you think she’ll try and turn the other members of the academy against us?” Avarine asked, and the fear shot through them both of “Monica” poisoning her classmates, even the Professor, against her. Of being truly alone again after a taste of having more people walking beside her and Hubert. She didn’t know if she could handle it.”

“If it is any consolation, Lady Edelgard, I do not believe this, let us call her Monica for now, is stable enough to attempt any long-term subterfuge. Any attempts to turn our classmates against us will likely be obvious enough for us to notice and counter. Additionally, if she intends to monitor our activities, then she cannot interfere with our classmates.”

“True.” Trust Hubert to always look at the tactical side of the situation. “Even if we can’t continue the Club, that doesn’t change our original plans.” They had originally started this year expecting to be completely alone, her and Hubert against their classmates, the church, the world. What had changed?

_ “We got soft. We started to learn what it was like to have more allies...even friends. I think that was a mistake. Was it a mistake?” _

Damn it all, Avarine was right. And now that she had a taste of companionship, it would hurt so much to go back to the dark. Hubert almost certainly felt the same way, deep down, even if he would never admit it. Was it a mistake, when she was so painfully lonely, to not feel quite so alone anymore? Perhaps it was, if it put her scheme at risk. She had to continue, no matter how much it tore her apart inside. Her body was falling apart bit by bit regardless; she only had a decade or two at most left to live. For the future of Fodlan, she could not let its people suffer under the heel of the church and nobility any longer. 

“Even if we can’t continue the club, we still gleaned important information from those few sessions we had,” Hubert mused. “Far more people are suffering under the yoke of the current system than we initially anticipated. You were right Lady Edelgard; we must distribute your manifesto and let it speak for itself. How is it coming along?”

“I have most of the revisions done, but given the inspections and church scrutiny I haven’t been able to really work on it.” Even just having the coded notes here was risky enough. But Hubert was right. They had more people sympathetic to their cause now. And they had a better idea where their classmates would stand. She started counting off her classmates on her fingers, Avarine holding up a taloned foot when they got into double digits. “Lysithea will join us, without question. Dorothea might, and...I think we need to tell her about our plans. Bernadetta may or may not join us, but I doubt she will stand against us. Claude is intrigued but his position is too precarious to openly declare support or find out more. We’ll have to get to him through Petra. And our teacher...”

She trailed off. The thought of her teacher, Byleth, against them was almost too painful to bear. Avarine lowered her wings, seemed to droop down off her perch, and only solidified again when Thanily hopped up next to the perch to press against her. “Thanks,” she said, leaning into the fox daemon’s warmth. 

Hubert stood up abruptly, and Thanily nuzzled against Avarine briefly before returning to Hubert’s side once more. “Hubert? What are you doing?”

“Monica is currently going over makeup lesson plans with the professor. I have some time to go through her room. Do not worry, Lady Edelgard.”

There was clearly no room for argument. All she could say was, “Please stay safe, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Lady Edelgard.”

She did, but they both knew that without saying. So she let Hubert go, and sat alone in her room, with nothing but Avarine, her thoughts, and determination. They had to keep going, for a better future, no matter the cost. 

* * *

Hubert rifled through another drawer and found nothing but socks, underwear, and lint. “Damn it all, those beasts who slither in the dark are the exact opposite of subtle. There must be something here we can use! Thanily, did you find anything?”

Thanily peeked her head out from under the bed, orange fur slightly ruffled from the tight space. “Just a bunch of standard-issue school weapons. Which is another charge against the church by the way, letting us leave actual live weapons in our room. Mostly swords and knives; I presume this thing masquerading as Monica is fast but frail. There’s another box underneath, let me see if I can drag it out.” She dove back under the bed, the tip of her tail exposed and wagging as she dug through whatever Monica had stashed under her bed. 

Hubert allowed himself a fond smile before returning to search through Monica’s textbooks. Swordsmanship guides, primers on tactics, some essays on philosophy and leadership...there! A thin book, made of a material that he had only seen once before, on one of the worst days of his life. He flipped it open, and just as he expected, there were the glyphs of an unknown dark magic spell. “Thanily, look at this.”

His daemon hopped up onto the desk, picked the dust from her paws, and started sounding out the incantation as Hubert attempted to decipher the spell. “Interesting...I don’t see any actual combat use for this spell, and it doesn’t appear to require a lot of magical energy, but it does seem to be a rather technical little thing. This sigil here markedly extends a spell’s duration—“

“Yah!” Thanily jumped back; her paw had turned silver mid-incantation and the color change was slowly creeping up her leg. The half-formed spell fizzled and her fur rapidly changed back to its normal orange and black. “Sorry Hubert. That was unexpected, but still terribly immature.”

Hubert shook his head but said nothing; apology accepted. “Well, this confirms that those who slither in the dark are using a long-term disguise spell. Perhaps some sort of illusion? If I can deconstruct these sigils and glyphs I may be able to figure out how to dispel the enchantment. I could also cast it on myself, or my spies…”

“My, you’re being a busy little bee, Hubiekins. Or should I say fox?”

Hubert and Thanily froze. _ No. _Where could she have come from? The door was shut and even when reciting the runes Thanily had been facing it the entire time. He cast a quick glance to the window, slightly open, but on the second floor with...a tree just outside, its leaves bright orange but still hanging on, the foliage thick enough to conceal someone at first glance.

Well. Fuck. 

Dark magic curled up Hubert’s hand, cold as the grave and waiting to be released. Thanily snarled, Monica whipped out a dagger, her daemon took to the air, and they began their dance. 

“Dontcha know it’s rude to go searching through a girl’s things, Hubiekins? Or should I be calling you Hubert the Pervert?”

Hubert felt the rush of anger echo between him and Thanily but didn’t rise to the bait. They circled each other, eyeing for a misstep, or a chance to escape. “I should be asking you a similar thing. Do you not realize how you overstepped your boundaries? One could rightfully accuse you of interfering with international politics.”

“My that’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?” “Monica” laughed again in time with her daemon, sickeningly false as she casually flipped her knife in her hand. “Isn’t your whole little club just heresy under a different name? It’s honestly adorable!”

Another pace around the room, and Hubert had had enough. “Cut the crap ‘Monica,’ or whatever your name actually is. We’ve worked alongside you and your monstrous agenda long enough; we both have the same goal of dismantling the church and current power structures. Your clumsy attempts at observing and intimidating only serve to interfere with our careful balancing act of preparing for the inevitable conflict while still playing as student, so I would highly suggest you _ back off. _”

Hubert was ready for Monica’s lunge. He flung himself to the side so she couldn’t knock him off his feet, tucked in his shoulder into a side roll and sprung up. In that same moment he flung a fistful of sticky dark magic at her. Thanily did much the same, ducking her head so that cuckoo daemon couldn’t scratch at her face. 

The thing calling herself Monica was faster than Hubert, and more athletic. She dodged the Miasma spell (which left a sizzling hole in the bedsheets), somersaulted between Hubert’s legs, spun to her feet, reached out,

And closed her hand around Thanily’s throat. 

Hubert _ crumpled._ It was as if a wild beast had sunk its claws between his legs, dug into his crotch, and yanked down. No, a pain like that was merely physical. This was worse this was _ no no please stop please sick no no wrong stop touching her!!! _ visceral this was _ wrong _ this was a hand where none should ever be this was _ her _ hand digging into _ Thanily, Thanily’s! _ plush orange coat, luxuriating in the feel of it. This was Monica stabbing a blade into his chest and rutting against the wound like a beast in heat. This was Monica pinning him to the ground, tearing his belly open, and feasting on his steaming innards. 

Hubert didn’t beg. He was beyond begging, beyond anything but the whimper of a wounded animal. Thanily kicked and flailed in her grip, but it was weak, she was limp with no fight left in her. 

Monica simply chuckled and sat on her desk, swinging her legs back and forth above where Hubert curled up on the floor. She smiled and _ Flames no stop petting her please STOP! _ Hubert couldn’t look away, not when his Thanily cried out at every mocking caress and that indescribable soul-pain tore through him as well. And that accursed cuckoo daemon just sat there and _ watched. _

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” Monica said, bright and breezy and _ still holding her. _ “You’re gonna let me hang around Edie, because I’m a good student who wants to learn straight from the house leader and graduate without any fuss. You’re gonna let me do that, and if you try anything then Thales will know _ all _ about you and your cute little rebellion against us.”

Hubert forced himself to look up and gasped, “You bitch, what makes you think I won’t tell what you’ve done?”

Monica’s response to that was to laugh _ again_, lean down, and pat him on the cheek. “Oh Hubiekins, we both know you won’t do that. After all, you need people to think you’re terrifying. And who could ever be afraid of someone reduced to this?”

She tossed Thanily to the ground, and Hubert surrendered to the human instinct, as natural and necessary as breathing, to curl himself around his daemon, to embrace her shaking form so Thanily could feel _ him _ and not _ her. _

“Heehee, I think I’ve made my point. See you in class!” And she bounced away, that cuckoo daemon tittering alongside her, leaving Hubert and Thanily curled up and gasping on the floor. 

* * *

And after all that, he was supposed to go to class like nothing had ever happened. He was supposed to watch Byleth and Belial pace back and forth as they discussed nonverbal communication and signaling commands on the battlefield as if he didn’t still feel Monica’s fingers digging into Thanily’s fur. She was in the back row now, directly behind him and Ferdinand and Lady Edelgard, seeming to be every inch the model student. Hubert wanted to vomit every time he heard her voice. The first time he heard it he started to tremble in his seat and couldn't stop himself from roughly petting Thanily, as if the presence of his touch would scrub away the taint of _hers._It helped a little bit, in the sense that he was able to stay seated and not run away, and force himself to calm and settle.

Thankfully Hubert was good at compartmentalizing and hiding his true feelings, and people gave him a wide berth anyway. So even if anybody noticed the way that Thanily’s ears were pinned back the entire lecture, the way she wrapped herself around his legs (and oh she wanted to hop into his lap, oh how he wanted to clutch her to his chest as if he were a young child again instead of a twenty year old man plotting a revolution from the shadows), they didn’t say anything at all. 

Edelgard did notice, and though her gaze was fixed on their Professor Avarine kept shooting worried glances in his direction. Ferdinand, the fool, was as oblivious as always. More than once Hubert considered opening his mouth, more than once Thanily considered whispering just what Monica had done to her into Avarine’s ear. But...he couldn’t. This was his burden to bear. Lady Edelgard had enough to deal with; the last thing she needed to worry about was him. And...it was too humiliating to speak up, this admission of weakness, what she had done to them. It was shameful to speak up, to admit just how helpless he had been when she...she…

Thanily pressed herself closer to his feet, wrapped her tail around his legs just to feel the warmth of his skin. Were his classmates going to brush against her? Would he accidentally brush against their daemons? Ridiculous. Everyone was quite aware of their space. And there were no oversized daemons in the Black Eagles classroom. The largest daemon in the classroom was Belial. No red deer like Vincatel, no alligator like Albarrog, and thank Flames no cape buffalo like Levia. Runilite and Peakane were in the daemontank, for crying out loud. But it was a shameful fear that he now couldn’t quite shake. 

The rest of the lecture continued like that, with Monica raising her voice just often enough to remind Edelgard and Hubert of her presence, and Hubert shamefully jumpy and afraid. Flayn was...just happy to be there, and Hubert didn’t have the mental energy to parse out his feelings on that. Because next he had to go to the stables with Ferdinand and Bernadetta. 

Normally he would have looked forward to this, this chance to spar with Ferdinand and put him in his place, the chance to see him flushed and heated and Embrienne buzzing around his head as he argued his point. Or maybe watch Bernadetta feed the horses and ride them around the paddock, not as much of a lost cause as initially thought her to be. But now the thought of seeing them made him feel vaguely nauseous for a reason he could not fully describe.

He lingered on his way to the stables, Thanily once again pressed up against his legs instead of trotting a foot or so away like normal, tarrying long enough that he could hear Ferdinand and Bernadetta talking in low voices.

“...Of course, the role of the nobility is vital in any nation’s stability and security! We have been trained to protect the common folk and in all matters of diplomacy and politics from birth. Revolutions are never _ nice_; even if they are successful they are distressingly likely to lead to violence and chaos. Without a strong end goal in mind, without well-learned leaders of the revolution who know how to properly govern after the regime change, then after said revolution all you have, essentially, are a bunch of idealists and rabble-rousers who do not know how the metaphorical sausage gets made, who do not understand the finer details of bureaucracy or the necessities of diplomacy and compromise.”

_ “He...has a point, Hubert.” _

“I hear a ‘but’ in there, Ferdie.” That was Bernadetta, and she sounded...stronger. More confident. 

Ferdinand’s chuckle was low and warm and weren’t the two of them courting? That sent something flaring through him, something unfamiliar that he did not have time or energy to think about right now. “You are right, Bernadetta, and I have you as well as Dorothea and Petra to thank for it. My ‘but,’ as you put it, is this: I now understand the argument that the fundamental background of Fodlan, the sea in which we swim, to use another metaphor, is poisoned. Therefore, any incremental change would still be operating in an inherently harmful system, and the people who are suffering here and now cannot wait for a slow improvement.”

Hubert and Thanily stared at each other. What? He would have never expected to hear such words coming out of Ferdinand’s mouth. He had to hear more.

“Haha, Ferdie, it sounds like you have a lot of thoughts about how a better government would work?”

“But of course I do! I am Ferdinand von Aegir after all; what sort of noble would I be if I did not consider how to best serve my people? Of course they are only hypothetical plans and half-formed musings at the moment, nothing that would truly stand up to extended scrutiny or real-life application…”

“Well, I mean, we’re still in school, so you have time. “

And then Malecki added, “I, I’d like to help too!”

Ferdnand smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I would greatly appreciate your help, Bernadetta. In fact, I believe I would need it. After all, I admit that I tend to see the best in people until thoroughly proven otherwise.” Or if that person was Hubert or Edelgard, Hubert thought but did not say. “Although your tendency to catastrophize can be harmful, it is an invaluable tool to help spot potential pitfalls or ways the corrupt can abuse power. Bernadetta, if I am to be a shining example of the Adrestian nobility and a Prime Minister for the ages, I will need your help.”

And that was enough sappiness for one day. Or several. “Are we going to clean the stables, or are you just going to whisper sweet nothings to each other all day?”

Bernadetta jumped back from where she leaned against Ferdinand’s shoulder with a shriek; Malecki fell off a post and flung Embrienne into the air on the way down. “AAGGGHH! HUBERT! Don’t sneak up on us like that! Ahhhhhh this is so humiliating!” She ran into the feedroom, beet-red, wailing something about humiliation the whole while. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand turned to him with fury and stomped over and _ Flames he’s so close is he going to touch her? _ Thanily ducked behind his legs and flattened herself to the ground. “What is wrong with you? That was incredibly intrusive and rude, even for you! I know that you are a cold man but you certainly know better than to be cruel like that to Bernadetta.”

“Ferdinand, wait.” That was Embrienne, and she flew off his shoulder down to where Thanily crouched behind Hubert’s feet. “Thanily, is everything okay?”

He wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and share what happened. He wanted nothing more than to tell Ferdinand and Bernadetta just what Monica had done. 

But…

But he still remembered, as much as the indescribable agony and feeling of violation, the helplessness. He, Hubert von Vestra, the grim shadow of the Emperor, devoted to her service unto death, was completely and instantly incapacitated by something as small as another’s hand on his daemon. If he shared this, how would Ferdinand, Bernadetta, and the world think of him? Would they think of him as a victim? Would they look upon him and Thanily with _ pity? _

_ “No, no, Hubert that’s almost even worse.” _

So he and Thanily were in agreement. He couldn’t share. This was his weakness and failing to bear. Damn it all, “Monica” was right. He couldn’t ever share, not if he still wanted to be seen as Hubert von Vestra and all that entailed.

So instead Thanily growled a short affirmation, and Hubert looked Ferdinand right in the eye and said, “We need to clean the stables, not practice kissing. The sooner we start, the sooner we can leave.”

And then Hubert and Thanily walked away. And if they felt heavy inside, well, he just needed to get some more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I knew this was going to happen for a few months now, and as excited as I was to get to it I also feel pretty awful about it. Please let me know if you have any issues with the content, Hubert's response, and so forth; I did my best but if I fucked up, then I want to fix it and do better in the future. 
> 
> And just so you all know, I'm a sucker for the Earn Your Happy Ending trope. Things will get better for our characters. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and I'll see you again soon!


	15. Blue Skies And Mind Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks. Please stay safe, everybody. We're basically on lockdown where I live but I'm a veterinarian so I have to go to work. 
> 
> Good news: I have a job.
> 
> Bad news: I have to take on extra shifts in place of the emergency vets who have fallen (don't worry, everyone's okay), and I'm also starting night shifts. I have never empathized with Linhardt so hard in my life.
> 
> Regardless, here is the next chapter! As always please read and enjoy and I love to hear your thoughts if you want to share!
> 
> Content Warnings: Bernie's dad.

Sothis’s voice was unusually gentle given her dry tone. _ “Really tells you just how much your father didn’t want you around the church, that he never took you to your mother’s grave.” _

Byleth couldn’t help but agree. The monastery graveyard was a quiet place, where certain monks and priestesses and the higher ranking members of the knights and church rested. A puppy with gangly limbs, partway through a growth spurt and clumsy for it, curled up a few feet away from where she and her father stood. She wanted to give him a treat, as thanks for watching over her mom. 

“When did we ever get so sentimental?” Belial murmured. Their tail curled around Domaghar’s leg. 

Byleth shrugged; she wasn’t quite sure. She played her hands over the ring her father gave her, her mother’s engagement ring, beautiful woven silver and opal, a stylized flower in the center. And it was now hers, to someday give to someone who meant as much to her as her mother—Sitri, she had only heard her mother’s name once or twice, as if it were too holy and precious a thing for her father to utter under ordinary circumstances—meant to her father. 

Byleth couldn’t think of anybody who meant that to her. She spent much of her life in a haze, and now...Well, she cared for her father. And she cared deeply for her students. But clearly her father and this ring meant something different entirely. 

_ “Oh thank FUCK I don’t have to explain that to you.” _

“Dad?” 

“Hm? Kid, what is it?” Domaghar lowered her head to Belial with a nicker.

“How did you do it?” How did he take care of her, one child who wouldn’t, couldn’t open up, and raise her to be a functional adult? Now she had to do the same thing with ten teenagers, nearly all of them horribly traumatized in some way, and keep them alive, and things kept happening in the monastery while they were all supposed to act like things were normal, and she had Sothis in her head and the Sword of the Creator chose her for some reason and Rhea seemed to think the world of her and Edelgard had suffered horribly, wanted to change the world so nobody else would ever suffer again but she was just one woman and needed to take on everything herself and Byleth wanted to offer a hand but— 

“Hey, hey! Kid, breathe.”

She was, but Belial had hunched down, their ears flat and tail tucked between their legs. Domaghar knelt down and nuzzled the thick fur below their ears. Jeralt awkwardly patted Byleth’s shoulder and she felt a knot in her gut slowly unclench. 

Byleth lifted their head from their paws. “Something happened to Hubert, and I have no idea what it is. He stopped talking to anyone unless he has to, he really won’t talk to me, and Thanily is acting oddly too.” They couldn’t put a name to it, only that Hubert’s daemon always seemed to have her tail wrapped around his leg now. 

“Hubert...that’s the tall creepy one, right? The one who looks like he’s half starved to death and invented the dark mage look? You sure that’s not just part of his aesthetic?” Domaghar teased. 

_ “Have I mentioned I love your dad?” _

Byleth nodded to Sothis, but Belial shook their head to Domaghar, which made Jeralt very confused. “I don’t know, this is a bit different from just Hubert being Hubert. But he’s so closed-off that I can’t get anything out of him.” He had _ threatened _ her a few months ago, but Byleth didn’t mention that because she didn’t want her dad to kill her student. “How can I lead my students when they don’t even trust me enough to talk to me?”

Jeralt let out a long sigh, and Domaghar flicked her tail against Belial’s flank. “Kid, from what I’ve heard, I think that’s on him and not you. The other brats have spilled their darkest secrets to you too, haven’t they?”

They had. Not just Edelgard, whose story made something burn in her, but also Linhardt, Dorothea, Bernadetta. 

_ “Speaking of Bernadetta, you think we can cook up some mission in Varley territory? And have the count suffer an ‘unfortunate accident’?” _

“Not until she graduates,” Belial muttered, earning another curious glance from Domaghar. 

A huffed laugh from Jeralt brought Byleth back to the present. “You see? Your brats trust you. And if Hubert doesn’t, that’s on him. All you can do is just be there for him, let him come to you in his own time.”

That...was not something she had expected to hear from her father. “Where did you learn that?”

“From your mother, actually.” He ran a hand over the worn-down grave, Domaghar rearing her huge head on his shoulder. Byleth could hear the wistful smile in his voice. “She was pretty sick. Epilepsy, I think it’s called. She’d have seizures without warning, and one of them left her weak on her right side, so it wasn’t safe for her to travel far from the monastery. Sitri, your mother, some days she would find it...hard, emotionally, that she couldn’t see all the places that I told her about and she read in her books. She wasn’t the best at expressing her emotions either, so I learned to sit with her and hear her feelings without words.” He leaned over and ruffled her hair. “It was good practice for you, kiddo.” 

Wait. If her mother was sick, and died giving birth to her, then why did they…? “Dad? If mom was sick, then why did you guys have me?” A dark thought began to well up in the back of Byleth’s mind. Did he ever regret it, trading his wife—her mother—for a child without a beating heart, who could neither laugh nor cry?

Jeralt didn’t say anything, just pulled her close in a one-armed embrace as they both gazed on Sitri’s grave.It was worn but clean; Alois had done the best he could in Jeralt’s absence. Domaghar rested her head on Jeralt’s other shoulder, but she could feel her presence and hear her say, “Something I’ve always told your father is that what’s done is done. You can’t change the past and you’ll just drive yourself mad trying. Byleth, I’m so glad you’re here. Seeing the strong, kind, capable young woman you’ve grown up to be, I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“Thanks, dad.” This warm feeling in her chest...it had become more familiar over the past few months. She had grown to rather enjoy it. They stood there for a while, in the cool autumn air. “Will you be coming to see the mock battle?”

“Ugh, sorry kid. As much as I’d love to see your brats mop the other floor with the other houses, I got called on yet another mission. It’s like they never want us to spend time together away from the monastery. And of course we can’t talk here because Archbishop has eyes and ears everywhere around Garreg Mach.”

_ “Sounds like it’s pretty deliberate then,” _ Sothis muttered, and...actually, thinking about it, that made sense. But her father was still talking.

“...Which means I can’t tell you some really important stuff. Kid, listen up. If anything happens to me, there’s a false desk drawer in my office. I have something in there for you.”

Ice flooded through Byleth, as if she had just fallen into the pond in winter. Was her father seriously implying…? No, that’s not, “Don’t say things like that.” he shouldn’t even joke about things like that.

Her father just smiled. “Hey, kid, don’t worry. It’s just a, what do you call it, a contingency. I have no intention of dying on you just yet.”

That helped, a little bit. But they were mercenaries. They could get killed at any time. 

_ “And we’ll make sure that time doesn’t happen. I’m with you now.” _

Nothing would happen to her father, not on their watch.

* * *

The weapon the Death Knight had used on Manuela was jagged, and so was the scar. Linhardt had staunched the bleeding, and the healers had knitted it together well, but it was red and raised and ugly, marring Manuela’s flawless skin. And it was _ long_, dipping below the bust of her already revealing dress. It was going to be an ugly scar and it broke Dorothea’s heart every time she looked at it. Broke her heart and sent her back to that awful moment of Manuela bleeding out on the floor, Puccini just barely keeping himself conscious to tell them just where that horrid Death Knight had gone. 

Flayn looked brokenhearted at the sight of that scar too. “Manuela, I am so terribly sorry that you were injured on my account. I was foolish, and that foolishness led to my kidnapping and your getting stabbed.” 

Why was Flayn apologizing? It wasn’t her fault any of this happened! And Manuela thought the same, and wasn’t ashamed to say it.

“Flayn, don’t worry about it. You weren’t the bastard who stabbed me, and it wasn’t your fault you got kidnapped either!”

Puccini flicked his tail and added, “Sure, that Death Knight may have ruined Manuela’s porcelain skin, but we’d do it all over again if it meant getting you back safe and sound.”

“Really? Oh, thank you ever so much!”

That’s just the kind of person Manuela was. Sure, her personal life was a burning cartwreck, but she was just the kind of person who would reach out a hand to a starving girl in the gutters, who saw her talent and the person Dorothea could be. Of course Manuela would run into danger to save a kidnapped young woman, even if it meant putting herself at risk, even if it meant getting stabbed and nearly dying…

“Look, can we not talk about this?” Cal blurted from her shoulder. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

“I agree; I would rather discuss any topic other than my abduction.” Flayn clutched her capsule as she spoke; it wasn’t until that moment that Dorothea realized that her daemon hadn’t said a word during their conversation.

“Some daemons just aren’t that chatty,” Cal muttered into her ear. “Plus they’ve just gone through a really traumatic experience.” He turned to the group and said out loud, “Well, what about some of the stories from our opera days?”

Manuela’s face split open into a grin and Puccini started cackling. “Calphour, that’s a wonderful idea! Though we might have some difficulty finding an appropriate tale for our dear Flayn. I’ve only just earned myself a reprieve from Seteth’s lectures with this scar and do not wish to squander it so soon.” 

“Okay, you’ve got a point. Most of our opera troupe stories are not appropriate for kids. At all. Ever.”

“I am not a child!” Flayn said with a very childlike pout. “I am a mature young woman who is now also a proud member of the Black Eagles House!" 

“Well, I suppose that is true…” But she really, really didn’t want to spend a whole evening getting lectured at by Seteth. So, perhaps… “Manuela, what about that one with the guy who kept crashing the troupe party and had to be escorted out?”

Manuela broek into her melodious laughter again. “Oh, that’s a good one, Dorothea. Flayn, sit down, have we got a tale for you!”

And so they regaled Flayn with a slightly toned-down tale of a bog-standard entitled minor noble who happened to have enough of the right connections in the right places to sneak into their cast party. Multiple times. It only ended when Dorothea used her brand new Thunder spell to electrocute the fucker and Calphour chased him and his significantly larger daemon out of the opera house with their tail between their legs (literally, in the daemon’s case). Cal made sure to play up the frankly hilarious visual, given the fact that he was a songbird that could fit in her pocket. 

“Haha! That was a quite amusing tale, and a well-deserved comeuppance for such an aggressively intrusive fan. I am almost embarrassed on his behalf, that he so clearly did not understand the directive to leave you be!”

“Oh thank the goddess someone gets it. There are way too many people out there who don’t know what the word no means.” 

“Did they not learn the proper teachings from the Goddess?”

To Dorothea’s horror, Calphour blurted out, “Feh, as if they actually _ enforce _ any of that—mmffphh!”

Her daemon flailed in her hands, but Forothea kept them clasped tight around his beak. “Cal, don’t say things like that! Not in the church, and not in front of Flayn!” She knew just what would happen if word of her open criticism of the church got out, and so did Manuela...but apparently Flayn didn’t, judging from the confused look on her face.

“I do not understand why you are so concerned about such things, but...I will not tell anybody, if you are.” 

Oh thank goodness. She was so glad Flayn was safe and sound, and there was no better place to watch over her than under the Professor’s care, but they really had to be careful now, with her around. 

What was Professor Byleth going to do? What was Edie going to do? 

"I don't know," said Calphour, "But...I believe in them."

* * *

The trip to Grondor Field took several days of traveling in a group, and they lost another one when their tents washed downstream. Flayn was with them but Monica wasn’t, having decided to catch up on her studies in the library with Tomas. The nights were getting cold and Petra was miserable until Mercedes noticed and lent her an extra blanket. But here they were at Grondor Field, all low rolling hills, freshly-harvested and resting for spring. Streams cut through it, and there was a platform in the middle upon which a ballista was set. 

Caspar was, as usual, brimming with energy. “Didja know? Grondor Field is part of my family’s territory! This is only a tiny bit of it but it’s the largest and most fertile field in all of Fodlan! Wait...I sure hope we don’t destroy all that grain. We’re not risking a food shortage in this mock battle, are we?”

Hubert sighed. “Caspar, look around you. The harvest is finished; our mock battle will take place over a tiny portion of territory and do no harm. Historical value aside, it is considered the most suitable place for a large scale battle.” 

Edelgard surveyed the field, arms folded as Avarine flew above to observe it with her falcon eyes. “Professor, what strategies do you have for this battle?”

“Hm…” Belial had just returned; the Deer were to the east taking cover in those scant trees, while the Lions had stationed themselves behind some hasty barricades. Ashe had taken charge on the ballista, but the steps leading up to it would slow the cavalry down. “We’ll charge down as one, take the ballista, and then split up into three groups. Bernadetta, I want you to knock out Ashe, take over the ballista, and knock out anyone within range. Ferdinand, you will guard Bernadetta from anybody who wants to take the ballista back. Flayn, your job will be to heal Bernadetta and Ferdinand; that ballista is a prime target and both Linhardt and Dorothea will need the assistance."

Flayn was delighted to be given such an important task, and that excitement was written all over her face. “Ha! I shall give it my all!”

“As will I, Professor. Dear Bernadetta, you will not have to worry about any attackers with me around!” As they were in public, Embrienne flew over to nuzzle Malecki’s nose before reluctantly sequestering herself in her capsule.

Bernadetta was not so sure. “I know that, but that platform is so big and open and Ferdinand you’re only one person. And what if someone does long-range attacks? Or sets the platform on fire?! Bernie’s flammable, you know! It’s in my name!”

“Bernadetta, I promise you none of those things will happen. There will be no fire here, and you won’t have to worry about long-ranged attacks because you’re even better at them. Have you been practicing that Deadeye combat art?”

“I have...okay, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got this.” 

“You can do this, Bernie!” Malecki added from inside her hoodie. “We can win this!”

Byleth smiled and returned to the battle strategy. “Once we’ve taken the ballista, we’ll split up. Caspar, you’re going to challenge the deer. Rush in under their arrows and engage in melee before they have a chance to change tactics. Linhardt, you’re on long-range healing duty. Petra, I want you to do the same under Dorothea’s cover fire, but only to thin the crowd for Caspar. Then the two of you will turn back and join Hubert, me, and Edelgard in taking on the Lions. Try not to stay in direct combat for long; neither of you are as sustainable in a direct fight as me or Edelgard.”

Her students all cheered their approval, daemons hopping back and forth and taking to the air in pre-fight jittery excitement. 

And there was Seteth and Rhea, taking their position on a bluff overlooking the field. Edelgard turned back to her, Avarine perched on her shoulder. “Are you ready, Professor? The flag of the Black Eagles will soon grace Gronder Field!”

The battle began just as Byleth predicted it would. With the speed of Bernadetta’s crests and Ferdinand’s strength it didn’t take long for them to knock out Ashe and seize control of the ballista. Bernadetta fumbled with the controls but soon had it set up for her size, and leveled it down the field where the Lions and Deer were already starting to clash, Lysithea overpowering Annette with her dark magic but not without getting a few scratches in, enough for Bernadetta to snipe the two of them and take the two dangerous mages off the field. 

“Thanks for that!” Caspar shouted before lunging into combat with Raphael, just like at the start of the year. Just like at the start of the year, the two of them laughed and bantered as they engaged each other, Oakley yipping with excitement as the two brawlers wrestled and tackled.

“Caspar, remember what I told you!” Linhardt shouted along with his Physic spell, healing Petra’s wounds and giving her the energy to spring off a rock and drag Ingrid to the ground. 

“Got it, Lin!” He went low, swept around to hit Raphael behind his knees and make the much larger and stronger man buckle. A restrained Thoron from Dorothea was enough to knock him out. 

She and Edelgard also worked in harmony, standing shoulder to shoulder as they warded off blows meant for the other with axe and sword. Although Avarine could not bring herself to go as far from Edelgard as Belial could with Byleth, the gyrfalcon daemon did fly overhead and provided a fourth set of eyes from above, gaps in the fighting in which they could slip, or Hubert could swing a spell without worrying about getting one of his classmates caught in the crossfire. 

Wait, where was Hubert?

_ “I think he’s behind us.” _ But that didn’t make sense he was in lockstep with them up until…

Hubert _ was _ behind them, his footsteps trailing off as they got closer and closer to melee and all the people packed together, trying to dodge each other’s daemons as they fought and knocked each other unconscious with wooden weapons and restrained spells. He was still approaching, but slowly, and...why were Thanily’s ears flattened against her head? 

_ “He’s afraid,” _ Sothis said, voice soft in surprise. 

“But he wasn’t afraid during the mock battle. I’ve never seen him nervous before.”

“Hubert?” That was Avarine, because Edelgard was locked in combat with Sylvain, and could not keep her eyes off him for a moment (and he would not take his eyes off of her, and that set off a twinge of something sharp and unpleasant in Byleth for some reason). “Hubert, is everything okay?”

“Of course it is, Lady Edelgard.” He settled his face back into its normal dour expression and took another step forward. And so did Thanily, reluctantly.

No. She didn’t know what was going on, but she couldn’t force Hubert to do this. Belial broke off and ran back to him. “Hubert, I think Ferdinand and Bernadetta need you to provide magical support on the ballista.”

“Professor, you cannot possibly ask—”

“Hubert, we will be fine.” They kept talking, not at all distracted as Byleth flanked Edelgard, knocked out Sylvain, and finished off Lorenz as another one of Dorothea’s attenuated spells knocked him off Vincatel. “But we need that artillery support, and Ferdinand alone may get overwhelmed.”

The fighting was starting to thin out, but there were still so many students. Hubert’s expression didn’t change, but Belial could see some imperceptible tension in Thanily’s form fade. “Very well, Professor.”

They did, in fact, need Hubert on the platform, needed him and Ferdinand both to take down Claude. Just as neither she nor Edelgard could take on Dimitri alone. 

But together, together they forced Dimitri to his knees, made Delcabia lower her head in surrender, and the mock battle was theirs. 

Afterwards the four of them met up, panting for breath, banged up and bruised but smiling from the adrenaline of a good clean fight. 

“Edelgard, Professor, that was a spectacular battle. You both fought exceptionally well.”

Claude shook his head. “Complete and utter defeat...I can’t believe it. I would hate to make an enemy of you two.”

_ “Ha! You were nothing compared to us and our fledglings!” _ But even Byleth knew that was too rude to say out loud, even though Belial let out a faint but unmistakable huff of amusement. 

Delcabia shook the dirt off her fur as Dimitri said, “I would hate to know a future where we have to cross blades with you.”

Byleth nodded. “Neither would I.”

“True,” Edelgard added. “Though it is interesting. Today the Battle of the Eagle and Lion is an innocent mock battle between the three houses, but it was originally named after a war between the Empire and the Kingdom. But the memory of all that bloodshed has faded with time. I’m sure one day even the name of the battle itself will fade from history and be found only in textbooks.”

“I hope so,” Byleth said.

Claude chuckled at that. “On that note, Teach, I have a proposition! When we get back to Garreg Mach, let's have a grand feast among our houses, just like at the start of the year!”

“And by ‘grand’ feast, I mean a fairly regular feast in the dining hall,” Simurg added.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Dimitri said.

“Let’s meet up on the night we return,” Edelgard added.

Now Byleth couldn’t resist. “We’ll celebrate our victory.”

That got Edelgard’s attention. “What’s gotten into you today? I’m not used to seeing you so excited and relaxed. Seeing you like this is a rare gift...it makes me feel like I can maybe relax a little too.” 

Claude laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Oh-ho, I see what’s going on here. Come on, Dimitri.” And he led the prince off before he could protest, leaving Edelgard and Byleth alone. 

Edelgard turned to her, a smile and a faint flush on her face. “You know, until today, I thought it would fall to me to command and guide our ranks all by myself. But with you leading us, I've gotten to experience what it's like to fight alongside everyone... And I've realized... how happy it makes me, fighting under your command. The emperor doesn't take orders from anyone. It's their duty to stand alone and lead the entire Empire. But maybe it's better to have someone to rely on... so that you can support and guide each other through the darkness.”

“Am...Am I that person? To you?” The thought made something in Byleth go soft and still, and that made Sothis bubble with suppressed laughter for some reason. 

Edelgard nodded, still blushing for some reason. And for some reason Avarine couldn’t look Belial in the eye. “I may be heir to the Imperial throne, but first and foremost, I'm your grateful student, and your dear...friend. That will never change, even when I fulfill my destiny and become the emperor. I told you long ago that I wished to enlist you in the service of the Empire. Well, I take it back. Now I wish only for your continued guidance during my eventual reign.”

And, for some reason, the thought of that made Byleth and Belial warm inside, made them want to be that person as well. 

* * *

“We won! Haha, I can’t believe we won! Thank you so much, Ferdie, there’s no way I would have been able to stay on the ballista without you!”

His laugh was melodious and so at ease even with the bruise blooming on his temple. Embrienne flew out of the just-popped capsule, relishing in her freedom before floating down to nuzzle against Mal’s nose. “Bernadetta, I was merely your bodyguard. You did all the hard work of maintaining fire even under stress. And that ballista has quite a heavy draw! You have gotten so much stronger even in just the past few months!”

She...really had. There’s no way she could have pulled back on that huge bow at the start of the year. “And I have to thank Hubert too! Where is he…?” He had been so quiet and withdrawn lately! Something was seriously bothering him; Bernie could tell, but every time Ferdinand tried to get him to open up Hubert would just snap at him even more! Bernie had tried once, just sat by Hubert as he petted Thanily over and over again, and let him know that he could talk to her whenever he was ready. That seemed to work better, in that Hubert had merely looked at her and nodded. She was satisfied from that; he’d open up in his own time. Bernie knew from personal experience that you can’t force these things!

But Hubert wasn’t anywhere in eyeshot. No, wait, there he was, a tall dark figure reluctantly engaged in conversation with…

No. Oh _ no. _ No no no no Professor Byleth had _ promised! _ She _ promised _ that her father wouldn’t show up! 

But there _ he _ was, her father, Count Varley with his striped devil daemon as snarling and nasty as always. Except that while she, poor stupid pathetic scaredy-cat Bernie, curled up at the sight of him (Mal had instantly transformed into a tiny quivering ball in her pocket), Hubert was unperturbed. Her father’s daemon was snarling in Thanily’s face, and the fox just looked at her like she was a particularly annoying stain on the wall! Hubert was so brave! He was so scary that nothing else could scare him, not even her awful father! Oh, why couldn’t she be as brave as Hubert?

“Bernadetta, what is going on?” Oh no, oh no, Ferdinand was still next to her she completely forgot. He could see everything, see just how weak and pathetic she was. He wouldn’t want anything to do with her now would he? His hand was strong and steady on her shoulder, and Embry hovered inches from Mal’s quills. “Bernadetta, I am right here. I am not going anywhere.”

Breathe she knew she should breathe but her father was _ right there _ and oh no no no he noticed her he was coming over and _ Hubert _ was following him, his face set in that vaguely murderous glower like always and Thanily’s ears swiveled towards her father, and Hubert was going to see _everything._ And after she did such a good job in the mock battle he was going to see just how sad and pathetic she really was!

“Bernadetta,” and oh no his voice was even harsher than she remembered after months of hearing her name without such venom behind it. “What did I teach you about speaking to your elders?” 

The bow dropped from her quivering hands but she snapped to attention regardless, years of discipline drilled into her even as she hated every minute of it.”Y-yes sir, sorry sir!” She and Mal trembled like a leaf, oh pathetic Bernie, Ferdie’s hand was on her shoulder why was it on there he could feel every tremor from her weak body why was his hand still there!? 

“Bernadetta, who is this man? Did I not teach you about associating with men? You don’t want to sully yourself before marriage, now do you?”

“That’s not—father, I swear—” Ferdinand’s grip was even tighter on her shoulder and Hubert was just watching, she could see how he was clenching his jaw he was disgusted with her, did he also think that she and Ferdinand were—that she was—that she had _ sullied _ herself?! They had only kissed but aagh was that enough for her to count as sullied for her future husband?

“Count Varley! I am Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir, the next prime minister of Adrestia, and I swear to you on my honor as a noble that I have been nothing but proper and respectful when courting your daughter!” Ferdiand’s voice was heated he sounded angry he wasn’t angry at her, was he? Bernadetta couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything except tremble in the face of her nightmares. Mal couldn’t even say anything either, all she could hear from him was an endless whimper. Was that all she was good for?

Her father and his daemon froze at Ferdinand’s proclamation, and then he smiled and she knew that smile, the simpering sliminess to it. He always had that smile when presenting her to the suitor of the month, like he was showing off a particularly valuable broodmare. Because that’s all she was to him. “Ah, Ferdinand von Aegir! Yes, of course I have heard of you; such an illustrious name from such an illustrious lineage.” That striped devil daemon bowed to Ferdinand and it was such an ugly hypocrisy that even _ she _ noticed it. “Ah, Bernadetta, it appears that the academy has been useful in some way after all, if you are now courting someone as capable and powerful as Ferdinand von Aegir. Even if it has made you far too willful for a proper lady.” 

No, she wasn’t unladylike! And even if she was, her traitorous mind liked being heard and listened too even if it would make her...unmarriageable…no, no no no how could she think things like that?! “Father, I—!”

“Quiet Bernadetta; the men are speaking.” Ferdinand pulled her a little closer at that and she could see Hubert’s one visible eye flash, could see Thanily’s teeth bared in a snarl, and oh no no no they were angry at her for speaking up weren’t they? They were going to discipline her in her father’s stead as was their right as a suitor no no no he was gonna tie her to a chair wasn’t he?! 

She could hear Ferdinand draw in a deep breath to say something but before he could, oh no no no no NO what was Dorothea doing here?! Go away Dorothea, father hates you, father will hurt you and even if you can break his arm his daemon could and would _kill _ Calphour please Dorothea, Bernie isn’t worth it! 

But Dorothea always, _ always _ spoke her mind because she was smart and kind and brave in a way that according to her father a lady shouldn’t be but that Bernie secretly wanted to be anyway, _ “And Dorothea is super ladylike anyway,” _ Mal thought, that one sentence breaking through their shared gibbering panic. 

And so Dorothea said, in her falsely sweet voice that Bernie wished she could do instead of just screaming and whining, “I thought I heard the sound of a blustering impotent man. Tell me, who are you to bully my sweet Bern?”

“Dorothea, please don’t…”

“Dorothea?!” Now her father turned to her friend with complete and utter disgust, like she was a bit of garbage that had gotten on his shoe. When he talked he didn’t even acknowledge her. It was like he thought of her as less than human because of course he did her father believed commoners were scum and that she should never get close to one and he was _wrong_ but oh now she was in for it and now Dorothea was in for it too. “As in Dorothea Arnault, the so-called Mystical Songstress of the Mittelfrank Opera Company?”

“The one and only,” Dorothea said with a mocking bow but Cal’s feathers were fluffed up and he sat tense on her hat. “I would say I was pleased to make your acquaintance but even my acting skills can only go so far.” 

Her father wasn’t even paying attention to Dorothea. Instead he turned back to Bernadetta with utter disgust. “Bernadetta, do not tell me that you have been associating with this _ commoner. _ And you too, Mister von Aegir, I know your father has taught you better than that. Do you not know how a mere commoner, even an opera star, could have gotten into the esteemed Officer’s Academy? She sold her body to a noble for a recommendation! That harlot may call herself the Mystical Songstress, but a better title would be Whore of the Opera!”

Bernie knew he was going to say something as awful as that, but it was still like a slap across the face. Dorothea gasped, Calphour falling backward with a horrified squawk. She could hear Embrienne buzzing furiously and that was too much. Courage welled up from some unknown place and she shouted at the same time as Ferdinand.

“Father, don’t say things like that!”

“How can you possibly say such disrespectful, demeaning things towards my classmate and friend, or any woman? And you dare call yourself a noble?!”

Her _ father _ now snarled, and his daemon tensed as if preparing to pounce and Mal was safe in her pocket in a trembling little ball but Embrienne was still buzzing around Ferdinand’s head and Calphour’s body and no Embrienne get out of the way— 

Hubert’s gloved hand slammed down on her father’s shoulder, and he looked every bit like the grim specter of death, with his voice ice and Thanily’s fur bristled, her tail lashing slow and dangerous back and forth. “I believe you have made your point abundantly clear, Count Varley. Now, if you wished to speak to Her Royal Highness, I am afraid she is currently indisposed. You can certainly make an appointment to speak with her at a later date, but I believe you should take your leave for now.” 

Even her father knew how to take a hint, and so he merely glared her down. “It seems that even the simplest of lessons on obedience can’t stick in your foolish head, Bernadetta. We will continue this discussion at a later date.” 

The moment her father left, Bernadetta crumpled in Ferdinand’s arms (he was still holding her why was he still holding her couldn’t he see just how weak and pathetic she was?!) and sobbed out incoherent apologies to Dorothea, to Ferdinand, to Hubert. Sorry that Dorothea had to be subjected to such awful things, sorry that they had to see her so weak and useless like that please don’t hate her she’d be good she was so sorry sorry sorry!

Dorothea was shaking, Calpour was shaking, but the little goldcrest daemon still flew down to where Malecki curled up on the ground (having fallen out of her pocket at some point, she didn’t even notice) and spread a wing over those quills. “Oh Bern, you have nothing to apologize for. If anybody should apologize, it is that vile beast who dares call himself your father!”

“Actually, sperm donor is more accurate,” Calphour muttered from the ground. “Fucking misogynistic rat bastard I bet he…” he broke off into angry muttering.

The bizarreness of that statement actually broke Bernadetta out of her gasping sobbing panic. “Sperm donor?”

“I believe what Dorothea is trying to say is that although Count Varley, ah, made you, he in no way _ raised _you. The only worthwhile thing he did in his life was assist in conceiving you, but since he has made absolutely no further contribution in raising or caring for you he does not deserve to be called a father.” Hubert was still several feet away, his arms crossed, but his eyes were soft. He couldn’t possibly have been angry at her father instead of her, had he? 

_ “Seems like it,” _Mal said, and he couldn’t really believe it either. Embrienne and Thanily had joined him and Calphour, Embrienne placing little bee kisses on Mal’s nose and offering words of comfort and support to him and Cal both. Thanily wrapping her body around them, guarding them like they were her kits. 

And Ferdinand, oh Ferdinand had pulled her into a tight embrace, pressed gentle kisses into her messy purple hair without regard to Dorothea and Hubert’s presence. “My lovely Bernadetta, it is no wonder that you were reluctant to share. Please, dismiss anything that disgrace to the nobility has told you! His ideas are utterly abhorrent and have no place in society. And Dorothea, I am so sorry that he called you such vile things. Such foul words only bring shame onto himself, and I am proud to call you my ally and friend, if you will consider me one.”

“I...thank you, Ferdinand.” 

“You...you mean you’re not angry with me? You don’t think I’m...unmarriageable?”

His response was only to hold her closer, that she could feel his warm presence soothe her hammering heart. “Why would I ever think that? You are an amazing woman, and seeing what you must have endured growing up only makes me admire you and your strength even more.”

That was too much. “Oh Ferdinand, you guys!” She sobbed into his chest, and in the daemon cuddle pile Malecki finally uncurled and relaxed. Ferdinand held here, and pressed kisses to her head, and Hubert and Dorothea were there too. 

“I...I need to tell you guys about this. I should have before, but I was too scared, and I need to tell you. But...I can’t do it here. It’s too big. I need to be in my room where it’s safe and nobody can get me. Is...is that okay?”

“Oh Bern, of course it is.”

“We can meet you in your room once we return to the monastery.”

“Thank you Bernadetta, for confiding in us, and for being you.”

She was still dizzy with panic but, deep down, she was starting to believe that. 

* * *

Simurg couldn’t smile, but if she could she would have. “Yep. This was one of our better ideas.” 

The party was even more raucous than the one at the start of the year, that celebration of Petra and Ignatz’s settling that was also a start-of-the-year party. Now, with the adrenaline of the mock battle wearing off and the growing tension of the year slowly wearing away at him and his classmates, they needed any excuse to relax and unwind. 

And relax they did. Manuela had decided to take one for the team and, somehow, managed to procure a large amount of “refreshing beverages” while simultaneously distracting Seteth from interfering with their enjoyment of said refreshing beverages. 

“Look, if we're old enough to fight and kill then we’re old enough to drink,” Simurg said as Claude finished his drink, sharp and strong. He meandered over to one table in the corner, which was getting pretty loud. Anna, the chatty shopkeeper in the forum just outside the monastery, was acting as impromptu bookkeeper as several students were chanting...Dimitri and Raphael’s names?

Ah. They were holding an arm-wrestling contest, teeth gritted and muscles bulging, Raphael yelling in his usual eager way.

“Thirty gold on Dimitri!”

“No, forty on Raph! Look at the muscles on him!”

“Muscles mean nothing if the prince pops his crest!” 

“Yeah, _ if! _”

_ “Let’s join in on the fun.” _Simurg slithered to the top of his head and shouted out, “Fifty gold on the table breaking first!”

Seconds later the table split in half with a resounding crack to the cheers of the crowd and the jingle of a couple hundred extra gold in his pocket. It was rather hard to top that, plus a couple of the students still had enough sense not to risk drawing Seteth’s attention, so Dimitri and Raphael shook overly-muscled hands, Oakley gave Delcabia a play bow which the boar daemon quickly returned, and they both went off to continue entertaining themselves. 

“No no no, see the point of the game is to stack the cups up as fast as you can, and the loser has to drink! And no daemons, it’s no fair to people like me who settled as fish! Come on, they don’t play this game in your village?”

Kamen laughed in place of Leonie, who was busy replying to Caspar. “We have something similar, but with playing cards instead of cups. Too much risk of the cups breaking I guess. Plus we’re not super-rich nobles so we don’t have quite as many cups instantly on hand to play this as you do.” 

“Well, it’s mostly nobles in this academy so there’s plenty of cups for everyone! No time like now to play then!”

“Claude?”

He turned around and yep, there was Lysithea, a couple of cake crumbs still clinging to the side of her mouth, the rest of that cake in her hands, and Zilbariel as a ferret running around her feet. “Ah, Lysithea! You’ve still got some cake on your face. Do you need a bib? Need me to blot your face for you?” 

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“Come talk to me about that again when you’re eighteen,” he shot back, leaving Lysithea with no response save a gritted cry of frustration. 

“Ugh, and here I was going to talk to you about the club meeting gone wrong but if you’re going to be a complete _ child _ over it I guess I’ll go chat with Annette or something.”

“No, look, it’s fine, really. See?” He held up his hands. “No more jokes, we’re all ears. Well, me at least. Simurg doesn’t have ears. Not really sure how she hears but it works somehow. Through the goddess’s grace, am I right?”

Lysitha just rolled her eyes and continued talking, studiously ignoring his antics. Ah well, her loss. “Look, Edelgard is definitely planning something, but she’s also really closed off and doesn’t like to reach out.”

“Just like another future leader of Fodlan we both know,” Zilbariel added from where he had climbed up her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claude replied with his trademark false grin.

“Sure, whatever. Anyway, Monica is clearly trying to throw her off guard as well as scare away potential allies; are you going to let her do that?”

And that’s what he was worried about . “To be honest, I have to. I know you weren’t around for the roundtable conferences to determine my legitimacy, but the final vote was a lot closer than I would have liked. I can’t be seen as directly associated with something as attention-grabbing and potentially disruptive as whatever Edelgard’s planning—probably some sort of massive reform that will inevitably piss off the church with its radical ideas of tolerance and equality—or they’ll use it as an excuse to strip me of my title, maybe even worse depending on what Almyrans are doing around the Locket that day. But I do want to keep tabs on whatever she’s doing. Gotta put my reputation as a schemer to good use, you know.”

“I hear you loud and clear Claude; I’ll keep you posted on the club. Assuming we even keep up at it with Monica around.”

“We need to figure out what her deal is.”

“Hopefully she’s just traumatized. Now I actually do want to talk to Annette before this party’s done.” Lysithea crammed another bite of cake in her mouth and walked off to where Annette and Ashe were singing to a small encouraging crowd. 

“Hey, Claude?”

_ “Oh, come on, can’t we have five minutes?! Wait, is that Hilda?” _

It was Hilda, and she seemed oddly quiet for one who was usually the life of the party. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Well, Claude, can we, like, uh talk over there?” She pointed to a quieter corner of the room; he shrugged and followed her. As soon as things were a little quieter, Hilda came right out and said, “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

That...was unexpected. “What? For what?”

“For...I…” This wasn’t like Hilda, so uncertain about what to say next. “I’ve said some seriously ignorant and awful things about Almyrans, right to your face! And it’s my family that guards the Locket and has fought and killed a bunch of Almyrans, and then they...Ugh, Claude, I swear I didn’t know any different and I didn’t mean any of those mean things but I still said them!”

Halmstadt’s wings were folded up, not a flash of blue to be seen. “How can you even stand to talk to me?”

Oh, _ Hilda. _ “Because of what you’re doing right now. You realized what was going on, and you apologized.” 

“Yeah, but what do I do next? I have no idea what to do, and ugh I don’t really want to do this it’s going to be so much _ work. _”

Ah, that was the Hilda he knew and was entertained by. “Well, you’re trying right now, aren’t you? I’ve learned that really trying to do better and listening when you mess up is one of the biggest hurdles.”

“Really? Well, either way, I’m not going to mess this up! I think our parents have been messing things up long enough. I’m going to do better, and I’m gonna stick by you, so watch me! Claude, you’ll help me out, right?”

He’d always wondered what a fully unleashed Hilda, a Hilda who tried her absolute hardest, would look like. Seems like they were about to find out. “Of course I will. You and me, Hilda.” 

Better get ready, Fodlan. This racist pit of a continent didn't know what was about to hit it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this breather episode and I'll see you all soon! I estimate there's about 10 chapters left until the timeskip, and 10-15 chapters after that. 
> 
> Again, please stay safe out there. Practice social distancing, be nice to the food delivery people, and wash your hands! It's gonna get bad out there.


	16. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may be cliche, but some of the most meaningful parts of life are our connections with each other, forging those bonds of friendship and trust andlove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient, and I am so sorry about the delay. I'm an essential worker in the tri-state area so I'm a stressed out exhausted mess who's filling in for coworkers who are out and have probably been exposed multiple times. And that's nothing compared to the human doctors and nurses and hospital workers. So I've been suffering from some really bad stress-induced writer's block and playing a lot of Animal Crossing because it's the video game equivalent of deep breathing exercises. But here's the chapter! I know there's typoes I missed but I'll fix them throughout the day tomorrow I just want to post this for everyone and get to bed.
> 
> Anyway, please read and enjoy and leave a review if you want! 
> 
> (Warning for some mild sexual content.)

Ferdinand was going to kill Count Varley. He was going to find some loophole in the old dueling codes, and challenge that monster to a contest of honor, and _ kill him in the streets of Enbarr _ for what he did to Bernadetta. 

He and Hubert and Dorothea had left the party early; judging by the faint shouts that could barely be heard even through the door it was still going quite strong. Bernadetta, his beautiful terrified brave Bernadetta curled up on her bed. Even with him, Hubert, and Dorothea on the other side of the room maintaining a respectful distance, their daemons bridging the gap when Malecki reached out a paw, and Bernadetta burying her face in her hand-sewn teddy bear, it took her a long time to tell her story. But she told them what she endured, all of it. The “wife lessons.” The knowledge hammered into her that she was nothing more than bait for a rich husband, a vessel to incubate crest babies. That her swift fingers and bright mind were utterly worthless. _ That damned chair. _

“Oh, Mal, Bern,” Calphour murmured into the hedgehog daemon’s quills. And oh, Count Varley had said such utterly vile things to Dorothea, and here she was comforting Bernadetta. “I’m so sorry. That piece of shit bastard isn’t worth the air he breathes.”

“Calphour is right,” Ferdinand said. “Bernadetta, you are even more remarkable than I could have ever known.”

She looked up at him, over the head of that fuzzy teddy bear, and again Ferdinand felt the surge of warmth rush through him. “R-really?”

“Bern, you went through some horrific shit, and you’re still trying to get out of your room and talk to people. You’re amazing!”

“You have made remarkable strides in your time here,” Hubert added. 

Bernadetta’s only response to that was to sob into her teddy bear, and for Malecki to wail, “You guys! How did I ever deserve you?”

“You always did,” Embrienne said. “And I am so sorry that you were raised to believe otherwise.”

He was suddenly aware of Hubert’s presence close to him, looming over like the ghastly spectre that he was. “Ferdinand,” he whispered. 

Ferdinand fought the urge to roll his eyes. What could Hubert have to say here? He was not a man for words of comfort, or sympathy, or any positive emotion whatsoever. Still, this was not the place for arguments. He remembered the truce. “What is it?”

He could feel the murderous intent roiling off of Hubert as he stared down Bernadetta. He had barely spoken since entering Bernadetta’s room. But now he said, in a low voice, “Count Varley _ will _ answer for his crimes.” 

Ah. Now there was something he would gladly ally with Hubert for. This was not the time for crosstalk, so he simply nodded. But that was enough for Hubert to understand.

There was another tap on his shoulder, and he found himself face to face with Dorothea. “I think Bern needs some space,” she said, indicating how Malecki had detached himself from the daemon cuddle pile and made his way back to Bernadetta. The rest of the pile was slowly breaking up; Calphour had flitted back to Dorothea’s hat and Thanily strode back to Hubert’s side. 

“Of course.” Their conversation about things being too much rung in Ferdinand’s head; this must have taken an immense amount of effort for her. Bernadetta more than deserved some rest. 

But Bernadetta was not the only one to be hurt today. Embrienne flew over to Calphour and whispered, “Are you okay? Count Varley said some absolutely vile things towards you.”

Perhaps it was unnoble, but he did feel a small flare of satisfaction at the way Dorothea’s eyes widened at Embrienne’s open concern for their well-being. “I’m fine,” the goldcrest daemon said. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“That does not make it any better,” Embrienne retorted. “People should not say such wretched accusations regardless.”

“And what if they were true?” Dorothea closed her eyes, and Calphour couldn’t quite meet Embrienne’s. “What if we did have to offer up my body for a recommendation?” Calphour whispered those last words so neither Bernadetta nor Malecki could catch them.

Just the thought made Ferdinand’s vision flash red. He did not want to think of Dorothea, fiery brilliant Dorothea, with no other recourse. Oh, please let that not be true! 

_ “I hope it is not true, but...it does not change Dorothea. Then... _Then the fault lies with those who made you have no other recourse,” Embrienne spat.

And oh, if Dorothea was surprised by his concern towards her, then Embrienne’s remarks left her downright shocked. “...Huh. Maybe you did manage to get a clue over the years, Ferdie.”

Hah! Perhaps now Dorothea would grow to like him! But no, this was not the time. Later. For now, he kissed Bernadetta on the forehead, soft and sweet, and joined Hubert and Dorothea as they left her room. Ferdinand was the last out, his hand lingering on the doorknob when he heard her voice. 

“Ferdinand?”

He turned back, and took his hand off the doorknob. Embrienne crawled under the door to rejoin him, buzzing circles around his head that slowly drifted out to Malecki and waited for his acceptance before coming any closer. “Yes?”

“I…” She slowly uncurled, just like those long dewy vines she kept on her windowsill. Sundews, she called them. He never particularly liked carnivorous plants, always found them disturbing. Perhaps it was because his daemon was an insect. But Bernadetta adored the things, so Ferdinand made an effort to at least learn their names. “Thank you, Ferdinand. For listening, and not hating me.” she finished. 

Why would he ever hate her? But now he knew why she harbored that eternal fear. “Bernadetta, thank you. For letting me, and all of us, in.” He took a step, and then another. And when Bernadetta did not protest, he sat on the edge of the bed. Embrienne and Malecki closed the gap first, Embrienne nestling in the soft fur on Malecki’s head like she belonged there. It was Bernadetta who climbed into his lap, and leaned against his chest as he held her and marveled at her warmth. 

Ferdinand was no fan of carnivorous plants, but they were quite fitting for Bernadetta. There was a symbolism there, of plants forced to grow in harsh soil and finding their own way to live and thrive, and he told her as much. 

“I… never really thought about that,” Bernadetta said, her hands playing against each other in her lap. 

Ferdinand let out a low chuckle. “I suppose it is all the more appropriate that my dear Embrienne is a bee. For you have me trapped, my little sundew.”

He was unprepared for Bernadetta’s soft gasp, or for her to surge upwards and capture his mouth with her own. And he was even less prepared for Bernadetta to take the initiative and dart her tongue between his lips. Wholly unprepared, yes, but entirely satisfied with this turn of developments. 

This was dangerous territory, making out with Bernadetta, who was in his lap, in her room, on her bed. But Ferdinand could not quite bring himself to care, not when he could enjoy Bernadetta’s hands in his hair, the warmth of her body as he embraced her, the softness of her tongue curling over his, the contentment from Embrienne as she pressed against Malecki’s now-exposed belly. It was awkward, it was clumsy, and it was absolutely sublime. 

A small part of him, quiet yet insistent and steadily increasing in volume, whispered for more. _ If proper noble courting leads down the path of what Bernadetta endured, then let us let go of our reservations! _ He wanted more, more of the heat of her mouth, more of the soft sighs they both made, more of her hands, of _ her— _

Bernadetta yelped, and scrambled out of Ferdinand’s lap. On the pillows, Malecki gave an equally sharp yelp and reflexively flung off Embrienne. What? What had he done to frighten, no, startle, her so, when they were both enjoying it and she initiated? When they both, when he wanted so badly to—_ oh. _

Curse his body, for reacting so...forcefully to her touch! The warmth was gone, and instead hot shame burned through Ferdinand. He wanted nothing more than to tuck himself into his waistband, hide himself from Bernadetta so she would climb back into his lap, but that would require fumbling in his trousers, which...no. That would be a terrible idea. 

“Bernadetta, I am so sorry.” Ferdinand scrambled to his feet, and...no. That was even worse. Now he was just uncomfortable _ and _ looked like he had a spear stuffed down his pants. Ferdinand gingerly sat back down and pulled off his coat to fold it over his lap; Embrienne quivered in shame, buried deep in his hair. “I am sorry that my emotions got the best of me, that I could not, ah, control, my, ah…”

“Ferdie, it, it’s okay!” Bernadetta stammered, her cheeks bright pink as she dug her fists into her skirt. “It’s, uh, not really something you can, you know, control, right? I mean, I can't always control when I, uh,” Her face got redder with every word, until she finished her sentence in a squeak.

“Still! Ah, Bernadetta, this was...enjoyable. Incredibly so. But perhaps I should take my leave, before things escalate further?”

“That, uh, might be a good idea.”

“Not that we don’t want you here!” Malecki hastily added. “It’s just all a bit much at once and this has been a really rough few days and Bernie and I just need some me time for a bit, and agh I’m totally messing this up and it’s coming out wrong isn’t—!”

Ferdinand hoped his lips against hers, Embrienne tapping against Malecki’s nose, was answer enough. But just in case it wasn’t, he said, “You are fine, my little sundew. I will see you tomorrow?” 

Only when Bernadetta nodded did Ferdinand get to his feet, and leave, and then make a hasty retreat to his room. For he was _ still _ straining against the front of his trousers, and if Dorothea caught so much as a glimpse then forgiveness of past unknown deeds be damned, she would _never_ let him live it down. 

* * *

“Come on, you don’t think it’s weird? Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird?”

“Edelgard is the future emperor of Adrestia. Your father is the Minister of Military Affairs. Therefore, it would be prudent for her to speak with him and negotiate whatever future affairs she has in mind.” Linhardt was only half-listening, but that was okay. Caspar knew his best friend, and whatever his family had gotten him as a birthday gift must be amazing for it to attract his attention like this. But Lin had also loved the tackle box that Caspar had gotten him; they’d fish together at some point later. 

“Yeah, but weren’t our parents involved in the whole Insurrection thing? I thought Edelgard hated our parents. Frankly I’m surprised she doesn’t hate us too.” Her and Petra both, they were somehow able to swallow what his dad did to them and their families and not hold it against him. Caspar was trying really hard not to let his anger boil over, but he didn’t think he’d ever be able to hold himself back if something like that happened with his parents. He really admired that about Petra and Edelgard, that they could. 

“It says a lot about Edelgard, that she doesn’t hold grudges. That sort of impartiality is going to be very useful when she takes the throne.”

“Wow Linhardt, you’re usually complaining about Edelgard making you go to class and stuff.” Caspar flopped back onto the grass on the quad, Peakane’s knapsack propped up against an adjacent tree. 

Linhardt made some sort of noncommittal noise and went back to his parents’ birthday gift to him. His friend hadn’t been so obsessed with a gadget in a while. “Okay, seriously, what is that thing?” It looked like some sort of wooden tube, with amber lenses attached to each end. Caspar wasn’t that stupid; some people had bad eyes and needed lenses to see okay. His mom had glasses, and so did Ignatz, and Professor Hanneman had a monocle. 

_ “But aren’t glasses really expensive? I bet there’s lots of peasants and commoners who have bad eyes, but they can’t afford glasses. What do they do?” _

_ “I dunno, Peakane, run around half-blind bumping into stuff? That’s...not really fair though.” _And it wasn’t something he could do anything about. It wasn’t a problem he could punch, and his family was in charge of military stuff. But maybe Edelgard or Ferdinand could do something about it, once they were in power? 

Agh, back to the weird tube, Caspar! Point was, Linhardt’s eyes were fine, and this thing was two lenses on top of each other, so what was the point of it? And why were they made of amber?

“It’s a prototype amber spyglass,” Linhardt said, now peering at the buildings as Runilite wrote something down in their notebook. He paused, trying to figure out how to explain it to Caspar. “It’s...you know how when babies are born there’s this cloud of golden dust that coalesces into a daemon, which then dispersed back into that cloud upon death?”

Caspar nodded. He’d seen too much of the latter and not enough of the former, lately. “So Peakane’s made of this golden dust stuff?”

“That’s kinda cool but also kinda weird,” she added. 

“Yes, but there’s also been speculation that this dust surrounds people too, and certain objects that people have made. Specially enchanted amber is able to detect these particles. This spyglass is a prototype tool to measure it.”

“Sounds important. And rare. How did you get your hands on that?” Caspar paused. “Can I take a look through it?” 

There was a very long pause, and then Linhardt handed him the spyglass. “If you break it, the repairs are coming out of the empire’s military budget,” Runilite teased. 

Peakane stuck out here tongue at Linhardt’s daemon. “Dream on!” Still, Caspar was unusually careful as he took the spyglass, peered through it, and, “Woah!”

The entire monastery was _ glowing _, every building draped in gentle golden light. Peakane peered at him, all that golden glow packed into her tiny clownfish form that surrounded her like a halo. Linhardt and Runilite were also ablaze, that golden glow pooling gently around his heart. 

“Aw man, the entire place is glowing! Peakane, you should look at yourself!” 

Linhardt smiled, and he did that finger-drumming thing he liked to do. “It is rather beautiful. There’s some evidence that crest-bearers have a slightly different pattern of dust flow and—“

“Linhardt! Keep talking about crest stuff!” 

“I was, before you interrupted me? I thought this didn’t particularly interest you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t, no offense,” but he’d half-listen because Linhardt cared so much, he could ramble for _ days _ about something he enjoyed, “but when you were talking about crests you and Runilite started _ glowing! _I mean, you were already glowing but it was so much more!” It was, there was something amazing about seeing his best friend literally light up, it was like when he looked out his window and saw the endless rows of wheat in Grondor Field, and the forests beyond. 

“Really?” Runilite hopped onto his shoulder, and they lit up again. “Caspar, that’s a fascinating observation! I’m going to have to look more into this.”

* * *

_ Excerpts from the research journals of Linhardt and Runilite von Hrevring, Wyvern Moon, 1180. _

_ Despite being one of the foremost authorities on Crest-Dust interactions, Linhardt von Hrevring came onto the field by happenstance, personally crediting his time at what was formerly called the Garreg Mach Monastery Officer’s Academy. As a student of the fateful class of 1180, Linhardt and Runilite von Hrevring had no shortage of exceptions to the commonly held theorems of Crest-Dust interactions, exceptions which would later lead to breakthroughs in the field and related subjects. _

_ … _

_ One can only speculate the events of the following years would have played out had Linhardt had more time, resources, or support for his research. Regardless, although they have a tendency towards the rambling and tangential, his journals provide an invaluable primary source. An edited except can be seen below. _

Seeing Caspar and Ashe next to each other really helps demonstrate the difference between settled and unsettled daemons. Both Peakane and Fuergios have that golden aura, but it’s much more intense in Peakane. And only Caspar has that golden aura stick to him. Not to say that Ashe lacks it, but it’s much less, and it easily washes away. 

**We’re going with water metaphors then? Linhardt, didn’t Caspar mention that he saw that golden glow pooling around your heart? I don’t see anything like that in either of them. **

Hmmm, the only difference between us is that I’m the only one with a crest. 

**I think I hear Felix and Sylvain sparring? Ugh they’re so loud. But at least they both have crests. **

…

It’s just as Caspar said. There’s a small nexus pooling around their hearts. But why there?

**Hm...could it be because blood flows through the heart? **

Urgh, Runilite, can you not? 

**Ick, sorry...Zepida looked oddly dim, didn’t she? I wonder what that’s about. **

Ugh, asking him is going to take so much effort explaining. I need a nap.

_ [Below the dialogue is a rough sketch of two human men, both with fish daemons. The aura around them and their daemons is the same with one notable exception: the man on the right, with the crest of Fraldarius drawn over his head, has what appears to be a strong concentration of Dust centered over his heart.] _

…

That was weird. 

**Edelgard also has two crests, doesn’t she. **

I suppose that confirms it. I would have thought that a second crest would increase power and ability, but that looked unhealthy. 

_ [Rough sketch of a human with a bird daemon flying overhead, a yellow glow scribbled around them. Several arrows, presumably indicating Dust flow, are also present on this sketch. Unlike the other sketches, the arrows are jagged, and many splinter off from each other. It is the most chaotic sketch in this section of the journal.] _

Well that explains why Lysithea was so upset with us. Now I feel kinda bad. 

**I wonder what it is about the second crest that makes Dust flow so unstable. **

I wonder if it affects them. No wonder Lysithea wants it gone. Could this be why Edelgard has no patience for crests? 

…

I don’t want to look at Professor Byleth anymore. 

**I don’t know if I can look at her or Belial without the spyglass. **

Ashe and Fuergios, Lysithea and Zilbariel, even though they were unsettled there was still a faint aura, and their daemons still glowed. 

**But the Professor’s aura was around her heart, and nowhere else. Belial was...I could barely tell Belial apart from the dogs. There was a sputtering trickle between the two, but…**

Runilite, I don’t want to think about this anymore. 

_ [The sketch below this text has been scribbled over beyond recognition.] _

…

Flayn has a major crest. Perhaps the brighter pool around her heart is due to that? 

**Felix has a major crest too, and that secondary crest-glow wasn’t as bright as Bismalt. **

So that’s what we’re calling it now. Maybe her crest is trying to protect her after whatever happened while she was kidnapped?

**Possibly, but where is her daemon’s aura?**

Her daemon is usually a tiny fish in a pendant-capsule over her heart. Perhaps there’s some interference? 

**We’ll put that in the testing notes. What about Seteth? They are related after all. **

_ [There is a drawing of a young woman, with a bright glow around her heart. Although there is an annotation describing her daemon as a small fish, it is nowhere to be seen.] _

…

Can you believe he confiscated the spyglass?!

**...Yes, actually. **

Okay, yes, he would. But what kind of excuse was that? Spyglasses are banned because the things we see through them would diminish the mysteries of the goddess, and see things that humans were not meant to?

**He just doesn’t want us to dig deeper. He’s hiding something. **

Exactly! And how could finding out more cheapen the mysteries? If anything, knowing how the world and the gifts the goddess gave us work makes them even more profound and meaningful! 

**Something tells me Seteth won’t appreciate that argument though, much less the archbishop. **

You’re right as always Runilite. I’m going to take a nap. And we’re not telling our parents we lost the spyglass.

* * *

“Get a hold of yourself, Hubert.” 

Hubert stared at his sallow reflection for a very long time. He never particularly cared about his appearance beyond the minimum of staying clean--he held no illusions about his attractiveness or lack thereof. That damnable Ferdinand practically glowed at all times, as if the goddess decided to make up for his utter idiocy by making him a caricature fairytale prince in appearance. Hubert, on the other hand, had greasy hair, acne scars pitting his chin, way too many bony angles, and overall looked like a half-starved drowned rat. He was not attractive, and by and large stopped letting it get to him a while ago. 

However, even by his usual standards, Hubert looked _ terrible _. There were dark smudges under his eyes, reminders of far too many sleepless nights. His skin definitely looked paler, those old pitted scars more easily visible. And Thanily...Thanily was the best part of him, her eyes always keen and bright, her fur shiny and sleek, no matter what dark deeds he had to do, because he had made his peace with who he was and what he would do for Lady Edelgard and the sake of everyone a long time ago. But now, Thanily looked...not haunted, Hubert would reserve that term for Delcabia alone, but she was unquestionably withdrawn, her green eyes flat, her orange coat dull. 

Damn it all, try as he might Monica’s attack affected him far more than he initially thought it would or he cared to admit. He still burned with shame at his behavior in the mock battle. There was no true danger there. Everyone here was an experienced fighter and it was a mock battle; even in the thick of melee there was no true danger of accidental daemon combat. 

And yet when Hubert saw the press of bodies, when Thanily saw daemons wrestling just inches from their humans, the memory of Monica’s hand wrapped around Thanily’s throat slammed down into his mind, and he hesitated. He could not follow Lady Edelgard into battle, had to put his faith in the professor. And while Professor Byleth had performed admirably, who was to say she could continue to be relied on? Lady Edelgard placed a disconcerting amount of faith in their professor, but Hubert could not do the same. True, Professor Byleth deeply cared for her students, but what would she do when he and Lady Edelgard exposed themselves, forced their classmates to pick sides, and plunged Fodlan into a war for the hope of a better future? Whose side would she pick? Hubert could not believe that she would side with him and Lady Edelgard. 

“Not to mention that our unwanted allies in the dark are no doubt aware of our Professor’s presence and will likely do everything they can to undermine her relationship with Lady Edelgard. Hubert, we have to tell her, or someone, what happened.”

“No, we can’t,” Hubert said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. The thought made his heart race, his scarred hands tremble, his mouth go dry with an emotion that took too long for him to recognize as fear. Fear, and dread. He had no idea how their eerily emotionless yet deeply protective Professor would respond. Likely rage, or whatever passed for that with her. And as satisfying as it would be to point her at Monica and stand back, the consequences for that would be far too great. 

Bernadetta and Ferdinand had also noticed something was wrong and had confronted him about it. Multiple times, in Ferdinand’s case, because the man clearly could not understand to leave him alone. Hubert (reluctantly) knew Ferdinand well enough by now to understand that he merely wanted to help in his own “special” way, but as if he would ever tell Ferdinand what happened! Just the thought of admitting his weakness and defeat to that vapid fool, of throwing himself onto that overly-optimistic imbecile for comfort and succor, made his stomach twist on its axis and threaten to empty itself. 

“Okay so Ferdinand is a terrible idea, but what about Bernadetta?” Thanily’s tail lashed back and forth as she spoke. 

“Bernadetta would be...a better option,” Hubert reluctantly admitted. The young woman had been making remarkable strides in the past few months; he had to reluctantly admit that Ferdinand was a good influence on her, just as she seemed to moderate his impulsive traits...to an extent. Bernadetta was also much better at knowing not to push; he still remembered how Malecki had called Thanily aside in the stables and quietly said that he hoped Thanily and Hubert would share what was troubling them but understood if they weren’t ready yet. Of course Bernadetta would know what it was like to suffer and not be able to tell anyone—and now he knew why. 

“Shame we can’t have him killed just yet,” Thanily growled. “I guess we’ll have to be creative.”

They would most certainly be creative, and enjoy implementing said creativity. Count Varley was already going to answer for his corruption and participation in the Insurrection, but now he would pay for what he did to Bernadetta. 

“So tell her! She’d get it!”

And she would, Hubert admitted to himself, but how would Bernadetta _ take _ it? The idea of her pitying him was less abhorrent than the idea of _ Ferdinand _ doing so, but that was damning with faint praise indeed. And that was still...the idea of him willingly opening to her, or anyone, made him feel as if he were in sudden free-fall. And besides, she had enough to deal with, as did Dorothea. His duty was to serve, not burden others with his troubles. 

“So what about Lady Edelgard?” 

Hubert opened his mouth in a retort when they heard a knock on the door. 

He slammed his mouth shut, his heart leaping into his throat. Thanily jumped behind him and pressed her body against his legs. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest with a second knock, and cursed his weakness. 

“Hubert?”

Oh thank goodness, it was Lady Edelgard. Only Lady Edelgard. Thanily detached herself from Hubert’s side as he said, “You can come in.” 

The door opened, and he and Thanily both bowed before Her Highness. Edelgard just rolled her eyes and Avarine said, “Hubert, that really isn’t necessary.” 

“Still.” He stood to attention. “Lady Edelgard, I can now confirm the full support of Countess Varley in your claim. Her only request is that we...remove...Count Varley from power. Which I will gladly do. We also have the support of much of the Varley military and—”

“Hubert.” Her voice was kind but firm, and she gently shut the door behind her. “Thank you for the report, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“How may I be of service to you, Lady Edelgard?” But he already had a suspicion as to why, and the sweat started to prickle on the back of his neck. Avarine, too, did not lift her gaze from Thanily’s. 

“Hubert, you really don’t have to...never mind that,” Edelgard sighed. “What happened back there in the mock battle? I’ve never seen you hesitate in a fight like that before.”

She was right, and that made his shame so much worse. How could he possibly protect and serve Lady Edelgard if a simple mock battle made him freeze up? “Lady Edelgard, please forgive my weakness and shameful display.”

“Dammit, that’s not what this is about!” Avarine snapped, clacking her beak shut when Edelgard held up a hand.

“Avarine, please. But Hubert, she is right. I don’t care about your display. I care that you were frightened. There is no shame in being afraid, but this isn’t like you.”

_ Here it comes. _ He could see the intensity in her eyes, the same burning in Avarine’s gaze, as she swooped in. And yet Edelgard was unbreakable as always as she continued. 

“Hubert, you’re not just my servant, you’re my closest ally and my best friend.” Didn’t she used to once call him her _ only _ friend? “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your behavior. Ever since that thing calling herself Monica appeared, you’ve been unusually jumpy and withdrawn, and Thanily has been practically glued to your side. Something happened, didn’t it?”

_ “Hubert, we have to tell her!” _

_ “No, we can’t. If we tell her, she’ll kill Monica, and then we’ll be fighting those beasts in the dark on top of everyone else! My pain means nothing in comparison to this.” _

_ “You don’t think Edelgard can restrain herself?” _

_ “She has enough to deal with. I can’t give her my own burdens to carry as well.” _

“Hubert.” She had been saying her name for some time, as he was lost in his thoughts. “Please, talk to me. What did Monica do?”

“...Nothing I can’t handle, and nothing you should trouble yourself with, La...Edelgard. Your crown is heavy enough.”

He knew, immediately, that it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late. Edelgard’s eyes went softer and sadder than he had seen in some time, and even Avarine’s piercing gaze dimmed as she looked upon Thanily. “I’m always here for you Hubert, just as you are for me.”

He stayed in his room, even after Edelgard left, and Thanily hopped into his lap. She curled up there, and he pressed his fingers into her fur. 

“Hubert, we have to tell her.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Next up is Remire, so things are certainly speeding along. As always I love hearing your thoughts and the like, only if you're able. And please stay safe, everyone!


	17. The Flames Climb High Into The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomas and Edelgard both move the pieces on their respective boards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, and this one came much more easily this time! Actually I had to have the very ending bit overflow to the next chapter, which is going to be a blast. But before the blast we have to deal with the drama...
> 
> Anyway, as always, please read, enjoy, comment/kudos/bookmark if you wish!
> 
> Content Warning: Remire, with daemons added in.

Could he have _ one _ month where absolutely nothing happened? Just one? Was that too much to ask? Cleaning up the mess that the Western Church had become took a lot longer than anyone expected, and Rhea was absolutely livid at their report. Apparently the now-late (_very _ late, Catherine has made sure of that) bishop did not take kindly to Rhea’s relatively soft response to the quiet worship of other deities instead of...whatever the heck was going on in those churches that were “educating” the youngest survivors of Duscur. Or some financial and bureaucratic shit that he didn’t really care about. The point was, for some reason, they decided that conspiracy and assassination were the answers and manipulated furious and grieving minor lords into conspiring with them. 

Or, as Ashe had put it, his voice flat with a cold fury, Fuergios an enormous trumpeter swan behind him, they used people like Lonato, and then threw them away. 

So no, Jeralt was not upset over how the missions went, although he was rather miffed that the bishop had taken his secrets with him. All they had to go on were the remnants of some hastily-burned documents. Ashe had taken a copy and was still going over them. 

But that hadn’t been the end of it, because why would it be? Because then some of the survivors of Duscur decided that this would be a great time to rebel. Which it would have been, except for, you know, everything else. So Jeralt had had to rally Dimitri and Dedue and the rest of the Lions, and basically beat the ill-prepared rebels into submission before the Kingdom army and Western Church remnants could get to them and start a second slaughter. Thank the goddess, they managed to pull that off without too many serious complications. But the prince of Faerghus was terrifying in a fight, and Domaghar could tell that his daemon was restraining herself. Jeralt didn’t want to see either of them fully unleashed. 

But wait, there was more! While all this was happening, a few more Western Church remnants decided to seize an old shrine to Saint Cichol, which according to Byleth was where Seteth’s wife was also buried for some reason. By this point Seteth was done with negotiations and honestly, thinking of his own dear Sitri, Jeralt couldn’t blame him. Flayn had basically recruited herself along, which Jeralt couldn’t blame her for either, and thankfully Seteth seemed to take his advice to heart and let her join as long as Byleth accompanied them. Which she did. 

But then Byleth had come back sick. It didn’t seem to be contagious, but it was still frightening. Dizziness, fatigue, and Belial...well, it wasn’t the Bad Days. Thank Sothis, those seemed to be a thing of the past. But Belial was still more sluggish and distant than they had been in some time. Byleth still fought through it, because his daughter never gave up, but she spent much of her free time asleep. Thankfully she seemed to be slowly recovering from whatever that was. 

_ But then _(and here Domaghar started laughing, because what else could she do?) Shamir came back from her scouting report, and, well…

Shamir looked up from her report. Veradis was not tucked away into her vest, but snuggled into Fortinbras’s wool. Despite how much Catherine and Shamir proclaimed themselves to be lone wolves, there was no hiding how happy their daemons were to see each other again after weeks apart on separate missions. Jeralt found it adorable. “That's what we're dealing with. Is there no chance it's an infectious disease?”

Manuela shook her head, as professional as she was capable of being. “There are no absolutes in medicine, but the chances are extremely slim. Restless movements, fits of violence, becoming bedridden or even impossible to wake... With symptoms that varied, there are only a few possibilities. It's either a mixture of poisons or magic. And dark magic, at that.”

“Of course, it could be a disease none of us have ever seen before. And if it’s contagious, then even if it is dark magic it might as well be a disease. We’d certainly need to treat it the same way,” Puccini muttered, whispering commentary into Domaghar’s ear. The lemur daemon draped over in her a way that Domaghar barely tolerated. Manuela did not know the meaning of subtlety, especially when it came to flirting. And while some part of Jeralt did enjoy the attention—he was only human, after all—his heart still belonged to Sitri and he still mourned deeply for her. Jeralt simply could not see himself with another person for...well. Likely not within Manuela’s lifetime. 

But at least when their daemons were like this they could talk without being overheard by Rhea, who never really seemed to notice daemon crosstalk. “What do you mean by that?” Domaghar asked. 

“White magic is a wonderful thing, but it’s as useful as trying to bail out a sinking ship with a thimble in mass outbreaks like this. Even the best mages in the world can only heal so many people a day, and if you do nothing then the disease, or curse, or whatever this is, will only continue to spread. People might get sick again. Faith magic simply isn’t equipped to handle an epidemic. And medicine doesn’t have the same amount of official church funding, support, or respect.”

“Then how do you know all this?” Domaghar flicked her tail, but both Jeralt and Manuela maintained blank poker faces. This was dangerous, especially in front of the archbishop. 

Puccini realized that too, leaned in closer and whispered more quietly. “Honestly, I got lucky. There’s no standard medical training; it’s mostly a master-and-apprentice type of teaching. The only reason we know so much about this sort of thing is that our mentor was so big on it. Manuela wouldn’t have paid much attention, but then one of his former apprentices basically saved Fhirdiad just through tracking disease and fixing the sewers.”

He’d heard about that, and made very sure to stay as far away from Fhirdiad as possible until the plague passed. Byleth had been a young child at the time. Ending a plague by fixing some sewers sounded like crazy talk, but Manuela did seem to know what she was talking about, and it’s not like he was an expert in the subject. But there were other things he could do. 

“Archbishop Rhea,” Jeralt said. “My child and I owe the people of Remire Village. If something's happening there, we must help them.”

The archbishop had been listening patiently, even though he could see the exhaustion lining the corners of her eyes. 

_ “Even after all these years, we can still read her.” _

“Both of you?” She asked as serene as always. “If this curse spread so quickly through Remire then you might be putting yourself and your child in danger.”

That was true. But…

“Archbishop Rhea,” Domaghar interrupted. “Pardon my interruption, but Remire Village means a great deal to both me and my daughter. We’ve worked with them several times. It was my daughter who helped them organize a militia and taught them to defend themselves against bandits. That was when Belial settled, actually. If Remire is in trouble, then my daughter would want to help. She deserves to be a part of this too.”

The Archbishop was very quiet for a moment, and Jeralt felt a rush of fear. He didn’t overstep his bounds there, did he? But he hadn’t been on a mission with his daughter in so long, because she was caring for the Adrestian brats and he was gallivanting around the continent by order of the Church. But, eventually, Rhea smiles. “You make a good argument, Jeralt. Very well, as long as you both are careful.”

Shamir gave a curt nod, taking that as her cue to exit. “We scouted the area ourselves. Speak with the knights. Hear what they have to say. I must go. Thank you for your help, Manuela.” And she was out the door halfway through her final sentence, Veradis hopping back into her pocket as she walked past Catherine’s daemon. 

Manuela and Jeralt watched her leave. “Honestly,” she muttered, “I have no idea what Catherine sees in her.”

* * *

“That’s a lot of vinegar. I mean, I trust you Petra, I’m sure this will taste delicious and I’m excited to to try something from your home, but that’s still a lot of vinegar.”

Somehow, Petra had gotten her hands on some soy sauce, which Dorothea had heard of, and several Brigidian spices, which she had not. The chicken was marinating in the pot of homemade sauce and spices, and Petra was right. Despite the frightening amount of vinegar Petra put in—what did she call it? Adobo?—it smelled absolutely amazing. 

This wasn’t what Dorothea expected from a date with Petra, or anyone. It was so...domestic. Nothing like the torrid romances she sang arias for, or the heated trysts with piggish nobles or (much more preferably) her fellow cast and crew. But despite the quiet mundanity of it all, it was...it was nice. For the first time in years, Petra was able to make and eat Brigidian food, and the first thing she did was share it with Dorothea. That was something which sent a thrill through her in a way that none of the adoring fans of the Mystical Songstress who sent her flowers and marriage proposals and worse ever did. 

Petra smeared a line of spices against her cheek, Ardi laughing bright and clear the whole while. Cal glanced away from Ardior to see her, where the dark orange smudge under Dorothea’s eye mirrored Petra’s tattoo. He chuckled, “Look Ardi, we match,” and Dorothea felt a fizz of champagne burst in her chest. 

For all that Dorothea was older than Petra, for all that she had had romantic liaisons and trusts, and learned all about romance from the world of the stage, she felt so...inexperienced and naive next to the Brigidian princess. There wasn't any ulterior motive here. She didn’t want to be with Petra to marry money. Dorothea wanted to be with Petra because she enjoyed being with her. 

Petra was right. Dorothea needed to secure her future, and would do _ anything _not to wind up on the streets again, but now it was looking like there might be other ways than, well, marrying rich. Money alone would make a bad husband. 

_ “We spent so much time focusing on our stability that we forgot everything else,” _ Cal murmured across their link. _ “And when has that ever worked out in the stories? I can’t believe we forgot just how nice this is.” _

“Calphour? What is it you are thinking of?” Ardior leaned his head against the little goldcrest daemon. 

How could he put all this into words? How could the depths of his emotions fit into a body that Dorothea could easily cup into a single hand? This was why people made poetry, or sang. “I’m glad to be here with you.”

“As am I,” Ardi said, stretching one wing over Cal. “You are making me feel like I am flying higher than any daemon.” 

“And you are making my heart feel full,” added Petra.

Dorothea wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but Petra’s lips were soft and sweet. Now this was something she was good at, Dorothea thought as she tilted Petra’s chin upwards and deepened the kiss, parted her own lips so her girlfriend—her girlfriend!—could sigh into her mouth. Laced a hand through Petra’s hair, thicker and sleeker than her own fine waves. 

“Dorothea I—oh my. I’m terribly sorry; I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The two young women sprang apart, a furious blush climbing up their cheeks in equal measure. They relaxed slightly upon seeing who it was, but only just. “Edie,” Dorothea said, drawing on her training to quickly regain her composure, “Haven’t you heard of knocking? Though if you wanted to join in I’m sure we could work something out. 

“Dorothea!” Petra yelped as Edelgard stammered with a quite unladylike blush. “I am not sharing you with another!” Ardior flexed a wing around Calphour, this time protective. Although that seemed hardly necessary given how Avarine twisted and ducked her head behind Edelgard’s. 

“And I would never share you either, my dear Petra,” Dorothea said, their hands still intertwined. She could feel every callus from her weapons, just as Petra could likely feel the way her lightning magic roughened her own fingertips. She looked over to Edelgard, a smirk playing across her face. “Besides, I think Edie would much prefer the attention of our dear professor.”

Now it was Avarine’s turn to squawk as Edelgard blushed even more deeply. Calphour couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Dorothea, you are being most mischievous,” Petra said, but she was smiling anyway. 

Edie coughed, tried to regain full control of the situation. Avarine rustled back into position aside her shoulder on those leather pauldrons. “If we’re quite finished with the teasing? I came to speak with you both about a very important matter, and nobody else is here.”

“And nobody else will be,” added Avarine. Dorothea resisted the urge to look around for Hubert, who would only be seen if he wanted himself to be seen. 

“You are having...have our attention,” said Petra, and Dorothea nodded. Cal flitted away from Ardi to perch back on her hat. 

“Thank you, Petra. I wanted to talk with both of you about a rather sensitive and vital matter regarding the future of Fodlan.”

Here? Now? Dorothea’s gaze flitted over to Petra’s; her girlfriend had also gone silent. “Is this about getting as many people as possible to piss off some combination of the church, the nobility, and society in general?”

Dorothea greatly enjoyed making Edie stammer, stumble out of her prim and proper persona that she put up at all times. But she’d never seen Edie completely dumbstruck before.

It wasn’t even Edie who replied, eventually, but Ava. “...What.” 

Nobody was eavesdropping. It was in-between meals, and Ashe and Dedue wouldn’t be in to work with the apples for another hour or so. Well, in for a copper, in for a gold. “Well, your international chat thing was basically a fuck crests club, right? A way to see just how many people are also really pissed off at the way things are right now?”

“Which, turns out, is a lot of people,” Calphour added. “Like, wow, I was not expecting so many nobles to be completely and utterly fucked by the current system it sounds like _ nobody _ is benefitting from the way things are.”

“Except for a few nobles and the Church,” Dorothea continued. “And the Church gave us an up close and personal lesson about what happens to anyone who defies them. Edie, I’ve been paying attention. You’re somebody who looks at an unjust situation and goes, ‘that’s bullshit,’ like a leader should. You’re trying to figure out how to reform things, but that’s just going to piss off the people sitting pretty right now. Monica was crass and way too loud about it, but she was right. This is probably going to end up in a massive fight, and you know it, so you’ve been trying to put out feelers for allies. Well, am I right?”

Edie’s response was several moments of completely stunned silence. Ava’s beak actually hung open; it made an audible click when it closed and she finally spoke. “And this brilliance was allowed to languish on the streets for over ten years!”

“There are...other factors, but you have the general idea. I thought I was being more subtle, Hubert will never let me hear the end of this…” Edelgard said, trailing off at the end so Dorothea had to strain to listen. She shook her head. “Never mind that. I came to you because, as you guess, I need allies and I thought you were close to putting things together. Just...not this close.”

“But...why us?” Of course Edie would ask Petra, but why her, an orphan girl turned opera star—

_ Whore of the opera! _

—with no money or holdings or power of her own?

Edelgard smiled. “Because of everything you just said. You are incredibly intelligent and diligent—as are you, Petra. You share similar sentiments and would provide a fresh perspective, untainted by the cultural expectations drilled into the rest of us. You do not have the ties and obligations binding the rest of us. I can trust you both to _ be discreet.” _

_ “No telling anybody, got it.” _

Avarine leaned forward, and Edelgard’s smile suddenly flashed teeth. “And I can’t think of any stronger way to send the message that the old days are gone than to have a commoner and a foreign princess by my side.”

_ “Holy fucking shit Thea, this is everything we’ve ever dreamed of. This is MORE than everything we’ve ever dreamed of.” _ Cal practically vibrated on her shoulder. _ “We’re doing this, right? To a brighter dawn we shall carry on?” _

_ “Hail Edelgard!” _The last notes of their impromptu anthem echoed across their link, and Dorothea could feel the predatory glint in her answering grin. “I can’t think of a better way for us to irritate that many corrupt pieces of shit. I’m in.”

Petra had been quiet and contemplative the entire time, likely holding a silent conversation with Ardior. When she spoke, it was with such precision; Dorothea could so easily see the brilliant queen Petra would one day be. “I am having...I do have agreement with your ideals, Edelgard. But I must be thinking of my people first. You are saying this as though I...have a choice. Why should I be making the choice to put my people at risk, when this will likely end in fighting between us and those who are not...do not want change?”

Edie had an answer, because she always seemed to have an answer. “We can work out the details later, but I promise you this, here and now: if you can secure Brigid’s support and alliance, then I will grant your country independence.”

And _ that _ was everything Petra dreamed of, wrapped up in a single sentence next to an aromatic pot of bubbling adobo. Dorothea could see the disbelief on her face in the way her eyes went wide, in the way Ardior’s entire body stiffened and straightened out. And, without question, in Petra’s voice, how she was so awed that she momentarily slipped into her native tongue.

“I have been speaking with Claude about the faith of Seiros,” she said, “and he has said some interesting things. The Goddess of Fodlan made humans and blessed them with daemons, but what does that say about the humans outside Fodlan? Are they not receiving blessings? Are they not even people? I am saying this because many people of Fodlan treat outsiders with suspicion and distrust, and they are arrogant at the same time. And the Empire that I know is one that...conquered my nation, killed my parents, and sent me to live in a foreign land. What I am saying is that I would have difficulty believing these promises of independence from another.”

She looked at Ardior, and they nodded as one. “But I am believing you. You have always been treating me as an equal, and you...wish to take apart the old way of things. And you have just given me the choice, when Brigid is a vassal of the Empire and you could easily have been making us. My answer is yes, Edelgard. If you are granting Brigid independence, then we will be allying with you.”

“Even if you’re still holding stuff back,” Calphour added. 

“...You’re right. There are things I can’t say, not yet. But I promise that I will share everything as soon as I can.” And Edelgard smiled. “Thank you, truly. I hope that I will not let you down. You—”

“Lady Edelgard, Lady Avarine.” That was Thanily, trotting into the kitchen as far away from Hubert as she dared. “Monica has been looking for you.”

And just like that Edelgard folded back into herself again, the door that peeked open slamming shut. “Thank you for our discussion,” she said, once again prim and proper, Avarine stiff on her shoulder. “I must be going but I will see you in class.” And then she was gone, leaving Dorothea, Petra, and their daemons alone with the adobo chicken.

Cal was the one to sum it up. “So, Edie really is going to shove massive reforms down the Empire’s throat, and she knows that’s going to result in an equally massive fight. Not just a bunch-of-nobles-yelling-at-each-other fight, but an actual people-stabbing-each-other-fight. And we just agreed to help.”

Ardior stretched open his wing for Calphour to tuck himself in against. “We did, Because we have understanding that things need to change, more than many here are having. And because we are believing in Edelgard and what she is promising us in return.” But Petra was also staring into the pot, also coming to terms with the enormity of what just happened.

“...Do you want my help finishing the adobo?”

“Dorothea. You are wonderful, and beautiful, and kind. You are making my heart full whenever I am around you.” Petra placed her hands on her shoulders, looked her right in the eye. “But if I am eating your cooking, I may die.”

* * *

Someone was shouting in Cygnis’s ear, but he didn’t really register much beyond his name. Or his name being shouted again. 

He did notice the teeth nipping his ear. 

“Ow! Serrin, what was that for?” Mercedes shared that hurt look with Annie, rubbing her own ear where it echoed with the phantom pain felt across their link. It wasn’t that bad, but it was definitely an unpleasant surprise.

“You weren’t listening to anything I was saying, you were completely zoned out!” Serrin pouted. 

“Seriously, you look like you’re about to pass out on your feet,” Annie added. “Is everything okay? You weren’t up all night studying for your Faith exam, were you?”

Mercedes had been, actually. It wasn’t like she meant to! But Dedue had been going through a pretty tough time after that whole mess with the attempted rebellion. More than once he had woken up with nightmares that he refused to burden Dimitri with, who had his own ghosts haunting him. And it had taken their house leader hours to even hint at that. 

In any case Mercedes has remembered about the Faith exam partway through her knitting “session” with Dimitri, but it wasn’t like she could kick him out! He had finally relaxed a little bit, Delcabia settling down next to Cygnis and letting the painted wolf daemon groom her. By the time Dimitri went to bed, it was well past dark and Mercedes still had barely cracked open her books. The rest of the night was a blur of studying and walking around her room chanting incantations as Cygnis read from the book and corrected her form. When Mercedes eventually came to, it was with her head face-down in her books and a mad dash to the exam room, still in her sleep gown, with ink smeared on her face. 

But she’d passed the exam, so everything was fine. 

Even though Annie wasn’t completely convinced. “Mercie, you shouldn’t stay up all night studying.”

“I know it’s a bit hypocritical, coming from us,” Serrin added from the shelf where she’d scrambled, paws raised as if to ward off ensuing protest, “But this seems kinda different from my situation, or before in the magic academy. And you seem more tired than even during our late night study sessions that really didn’t have much studying in them.” Mercedes smiled fondly at those memories. Even if their group studies started out with them practicing glyphs and incantations, they would inevitably devolve into girl talk over tea and cookies until the wee hours of the morning. Those were some of her best memories of the magic academy, and worth every moment of exhaustion the following day. 

“Well, this year has been a lot more than any of us were expecting.”

Serrin nodded. “You’ve always wanted to help people, and you’ve always been amazing at it, but there’s been so many people who need your help this year. Lonato and Ashe alone was bad enough but then we had Sylvain and Miklan, and my...my father, and Flayn getting kidnapped and...oh, Mercie! I thought this year would be nice and sure I’d have to work hard but I’d get to make a bunch of new friends and yes that’s happened but it’s also been one awful thing happening after another!”

“I miss you, Mercie,” Annie added. “Cygnis, you’re always so tired and I know that you and Mercie are working super hard to take care of all of us. And we need you. But Mercie, you’re my best friend in the world. And it, it hurts me, and makes me a little worried, to see you running around taking care of all of us and not getting enough sleep. I mean, you always tell me to get some sleep and remember to eat when I’m so wrapped up in my studying or whatever that I forget to do either of those things, so I...you need to do the same thing for yourself, okay Mercie?” Serrin leaned against Cygnis and wrapped her tail around his leg. “I worry about you, ok?”

And Annie had a point. Everybody had their own daemons and painful pasts to battle. And while Mercedes had by and large made peace with hers, so many other people had not. Helping them through that was something she was good at. It was how Cygnis had settled after all. She could still remember that warm summer day, how she had spoken with a young woman whose boyfriend had been manipulating her for months. Helped her realize what was going on, helped give her the courage to leave him and made sure she had a safe place to stay. How Cygnis had shifted into a painted wolf somewhere in the middle of that pep talk, initially to better comfort the other woman’s own daemon, and then never changed form again. 

So while Annie was right that she needed to sleep more, this is who Mercedes was, this was what she did. And their classmates needed her help. Why couldn’t Annette understand that? 

But Annie was so worried about her, and she did have a point, and Mercedes just didn’t know how to discuss this right now. So instead Mercedes just nodded and said, “Thank you, Annie. I miss you too.” And she did. 

Cygnis nudged Serrin playfully. “And I promise to spend more time with you.” And he would. 

She just...would keep helping their classmates in the meantime as well. Mercedes and Cygnis knew all about their nightmares. If she sat back and did nothing, then they’d haunt hers as well. 

* * *

Even before Sothis woke up, Remire meant something to Byleth. It had become a secondary base of sorts over the years, despite its relative proximity to the monastery. Yes it was where she had met Edelgard and Dimitri and Claude and kicked off the weirdest, most stressful, and most fulfilling year of her life, but Remire had meant something before that. It was where the inn always had a large ground room set aside so her father didn’t have to sleep in the stables with Domaghar. It was where she had spent months recovering from what could have been a career-ending injury. 

It was where Belial had settled. Bandits had come after Remire, because it was fairly well-off from being on one of the trade routes to the monastery, and her father was off on another job while she recovered. Byleth couldn’t fight, but that had been one of the Good Days, and Belial had noticed the bandits while flying above her as a hawk. Most of the other mercenaries were gone with her father. It was up to her to train the villagers and, even though she couldn’t fight, direct them to fend off the bandits. 

Afterwards, she noticed that Belial was a wolf. Heard a mysterious voice in her head say, _ “This feels right.” _ And that was that. 

Remire made up a great many of her memories, at least the ones that she had. Either way, it was important to her and her father.

And now it was on fire. 

Jeralt had dragged her and her students out of the monastery grounds without any preamble, yelling at them to keep up as he threw himself over Domaghar’s back and galloped off to Remire as quickly as he could. Were Byleth any smaller, she could have done the same astride Belial, but she and her students had to get their own mounts and follow along. 

They smelled Remire before the trees thinned out enough for them to really see the town, the stench of burning wood and burning flesh assailing their nostrils. The watchtower she has helped build was now a blazing torch. And the villagers had gone mad. 

It was as if they had all gone rabid at once. She watched, helpless, as people whose daemons she recognized (but not quite their faces, nor their names, as the curling feeling that Sothis had to identify as guilt rippled through her) fell upon their friends and family and butchered them, put their own stores and homes to the torch. Watched as one shrieking man grabbed another man’s daemon, and others joined in to tear them both apart. 

Behind her, Bernadetta made a low keening noise, Thanily pressed herself between Hubert’s legs and made herself as small as possible, and Linhardt threw up.

Domaghar whinnied and reared back, far enough that if she were not Jeralt’s daemon she would have bucked him off. Her father’s face was ashen as he absorbed the horrific sight, and his men were even less composed. “The fuck’s going on here…?”

“This is even more terrible than I expected,” Edelgard muttered, her face stained a faint but definite tinge of green. “Professor, we have to save as much of this village as we can.”

“But if we are not careful as to how we proceed, we will only increase the death toll.” Hubert buried his fingers so deep in Thanily’s fur that his already-pale knuckles went white. 

Caspar flailed in the direction of the savaged man, who had finally died. “We don’t have time to be careful! They’re all attacking each other and we have to make it stop!”

“It’s not just us we have to worry about,” Runilite replied from somewhere inside Linhardt’s uniform, where she had buried herself and curled up into a tiny furry ball against his chest and beating heart. “Peakane, you and Embrienne are safe in your capsules, but the rest of us are not.” 

“Still,” Ferdinand interjected, sealing Embrienne safe inside the sphere, “We must do something!”

_ “What could have sent these villagers into such a rampage? And attack each others’ daemons?! This is horrific! Who could have done this?!” _ Byleth could feel the fury build in Sothis, and echo to her and Belial as well. Whomever did this to Remire would _ pay. _

“Wait.” That was Avarine, who had launched herself off Edelgard’s shoulder to observe the chaos. It was a shame that Edelgard and Avarine couldn’t stand to take full advantage of their ability to separate; Avarine would be an even better scout than Belial. “There’s a group of people on the far hill, just...standing there. They seem to be observing the chaos.”

A plan unfolded in Byleth’s head. “Ferdinand, you’re the best on horseback and I know you’ve been working with Bernadetta and Hubert. Take them both with you, eliminate the observers, and save as many people as we can.”

“Understood. With me!” Ferdinand pulled Hubert up onto his horse where the dark mage, after much protest, had to cling to him with one hand, leaving the other free to cast. It was a tight fit with Thanily, but they managed. Bernadetta was right behind them and— 

“Wait! I will go with you!” Flayn had insisted that she come along—so had Monica too, actually, but Byleth had put her foot down there—and now just as Byleth was worried about, here she was putting herself into serious danger. 

_ “But isn’t that what this is all about, helping Flayn stand on her own? Not to mention that Ferdinand, Bernadetta, and Hubert are absolutely deadly when they work together but none of them can heal for shit.” _

Sothis was right, and after all these months of learning to be a person it was too easy to see the grim determination on Flayn’s face, the kind that set in deep and overrode all fear. “Stay close to them,” Byleth said.

Belial snarled, low and dangerous, the kind of deep-throated rumble that ends up buried in someone else’s. “Caspar, Peakane is safe with you. You go down the right and rescue as many villagers as you can. Petra, go with him and get Ardior as high in the sky as you can. Edelgard, you’re with me.” By themselves, Belial and Avarine could get as far away from the chaos as possible without anyone seeing. And Edelgard would only be separated from Avarine in the presence of someone who already knew and understood. 

Edelgard understood that too. “Thank you, Professor.” 

“And what about us?” Dorothea shouted over the din. She propped up Linhardt in her arms; the young man still emptying the contents of his stomach on the ground, Runilite limp and trembling in his own arms. Dorothea didn’t look much better, as if she were using all her acting training to keep herself together.

Byleth looked at her father, who nodded. “Got it, kid. Dorothea, Linhardt, stick close and heal. Get everyone else we can rescue to me!”

The battle wasn’t...Though the villagers had turned to little more than feral beasts, they were still _ villagers _, and Byleth had taught her students well in the art of battle. A cloud of golden dust rose from the funeral pyre that Remire had become to dance among those flames. 

What was far more important was the identity of the old man observing the chaos with mild satisfaction, who chuckled as Byleth and her students worked to save as many of the villagers as they could. Even if they had to kill the ones gone mad in the process. 

“Tomas?!”

“What are you doing here?” shouted Edelgard. “Dare I even ask?!”

The kindly old man...wasn’t. Though the coral snake daemon wrapped around his staff was the same, Tomas—no, something else—wasn’t. His form rippled and changed, the illusion spell dropping to reveal a ghastly pale figure with a magic glass eye, a man who looked like he was formed from half-melted wax. 

“What’s the matter? So shocked you can’t even speak?” Even his laugh, once warm, was now oily. “You were so easily fooled by my disguise...I was hiding away in Garreg Mach to get the blood of that ‘little girl’ you call Flayn. It’s quite special, you know…”

Byleth’s gaze flicked over to Flayn, who chanted a soothing healing light into existence, sent it down to sooth the battered but still-fighting Ferdinand. Next to her Bernadetta went to nock another arrow, but stumbled in her rhythm when…

_ “Oh shit, oh FUCK!” _

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

From literally nowhere, the Death Knight appeared, that scythe which in another time had so casually ended Ferdinand’s life ready to spill more blood in his hands. And, as before, he had no daemon. If he really was Jeritza, then where was that ill-tempered wolverine?

And his gaze was trained on Flayn. Flayn, who trembled harder than Bernadetta, almost enough for her to lose control of her spell, but who stood firm regardless, even as the Death Knight chuckled, “Ah, so it’s you. Here to lose more blood? Or do you really need both arms?”

And yet Flayn stood, flanked by Bernadetta and Ferdinand who also stood firm despite their terror betrayed in the way their daemons hid themselves. “Never! You shall not lay a hand on me ever again!”

Fuck. Fuck fuck _ fuck! _ How far could she and Sothis turn back time? To the start of the battle? Before? Would the Death Knight appear in the same place, or hunt down Flayn no matter what? She was too far away to stop him before he tore through her students. Byleth reached for the power that Sothis lent, began to pull at it, then— 

Hubert hopped off Ferdinand’s horse, Thanily following him with a much more graceful landing. They placed themselves in front of Flayn, looked up at the Death Knight, and snarled as one. “Lady Edelgard and I already said, _ stay out of our way!” _

Dark magic curled up Hubert’s arms with every word, and with his last words Hubert slammed his open palms into the ground and released it. The burning earth split open, jagged spines of dark magic erupting from within as he successfully cast Dark Spikes for the first time. 

Those magical spikes raced towards the Death Knight and exploded beneath him, throwing him off his horse with barely any effort at all. Those intimidating spikes on his armor drove him into the earth, long enough for the Death Knight to realize he had lost and warp away to the howls of frustration from her students.

Howls that she, her father, and Edelgard shared when Tomas...No, _ Solon _, surveyed the scene and chuckled. “A shame. I would have loved to survey the carnage a little while longer, but I suppose I have what I came here for. And now I must take my leave. Farewell, Fell Star and her slavering dogs.”

Edelgard gripped her axe and hurled it at the mage. “No! Get back here!” But in a flash of magic and ultra-black light, Solon was gone. The axe passed through the now-empty space and buried itself several inches deep into the tree behind. Avarine followed seconds later with a screech, divebombing that empty space and clawing nothing but empty air. 

Jeralt rode to the edge of the villagers gathered under Domaghar’s shadow and cursed. “Fucking damn it! He’s gone.” 

“I’ll search the rest of the village. There may be other enemies in wait.” Before Byleth could protest, Edelgard and Avarine were gone.

* * *

They’d managed to save most of the villagers, and Byleth couldn't be prouder of her students. 

And yet.

Dozens died screaming, and Remire was _ gone. _ All because this Solon freak decided they’d make a convenient target.

_ “I can’t believe you let them escape! What kind of havoc are they going to wreak on other towns? They don’t care about life at all! We have to stop them!” _

“I know!” Belial shouted, drawing a curious look from Domaghar. “I know. But I don’t know where they went, and we have all these survivors to take care of.”

Domaghar walked over and leaned her head against Belial’s. She looked and sounded tired. “Hey kid, how you holding up? This is some pretty awful shit, isn’t it.”

_ “Trust your dad to sum things up like that. But this is some, well, awful shit.” _

Her father sighed, scrubbed a hand down his face. He looked so...tired. “I sent one of my men ahead to the monastery, so at least everyone here should have a hot meal and a place to sleep waiting for them. But what kind of monsters would treat people like test subjects and do something like...like this?!”

“There you are.”

There was only one person—if they could even be called a person—that eerily echoing, metallic voice. That armor. That mask. No daemon.

“So you’re the Flame Emperor.” Her father split off from Domaghar, who swished her tail and snaked her head side to side, and slowly circled around to flank the Flame Emperor. “Byleth told me all about you. How you’ve been working with the Death Knight. Which means you’re also responsible for the destruction of this village.”

Did the Flame Emperor know what would come next, when her father surrounded a target like that? When Byleth joined him, Belial also peeling off from her so they could surround their target on all sides? Sure, the Flame Emperor had no daemon to pin, but it didn’t seem like he particularly cared about the worst of all taboos, if what happened in Remire was any indication. Or was all that fear hidden under the mask?

Because the Flame Emperor just shook his head. “Do not get the wrong idea.”

“What in blazes is that supposed to mean?”

“It is true that I am, unfortunately and reluctantly, working with Solon. But only in the sense of the old saying, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ I despise that beast of a man as much as you do, and you have my word that, had I known they planned to do this, I would have stopped it.”

_ “Then where were you during all this?!” _

Jeralt was much more to the point. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” He lowered the lance into a readying stance. “Now, I’ll have to insist that you accompany us back to the monastery.”

But the Flame Emperor, whomever or whatever he was, was completely undeterred by the threat. “I think not. However, if you wish to join forces, I will hear your plea.”

The sheer audacity of his statement made even Jeralt pause. “What?! Did you lose all sense along with your daemon?!”

“I promise you, I am only working with Solon to defeat a common enemy. But with you and the Sword of the Creator on our side, I would have no need for them anymore. And if left to their own devices, they will commit countless more atrocities like this one. What do you say?”

What did she say? Why would the Flame Emperor be so brazen as to approach her and her father like this? The Sword of the Creator hummed in her hand. Maybe it couldn’t tear through a mountain, but it could certainly tear through that mask and reveal the face beneath.

Still, even though he was surrounded on all sides, the Flame Emperor did not seem afraid at all. “A shame. Though not unexpected.”

The sword glowed, she readied her swing, and— 

“Jeralt, Professor Byleth! Have you seen Lady Edelgard?!” Hubert was panting as he sprinted behind Thanily, whose eyes were wide as she raced towards them.

And when they turned around, the Flame Emperor was gone, vanished in a puff of magic.

Domaghar kicked at the empty air, which did nothing except disperse the cloud faster, and Jeralt roared, “Damn it! He’s gone!”

“Professor Byleth, Jeralt, I’m sorry I intruded…”

“Thanily, it’s okay.” Belial looked around at the burning remains of the town. “Dad, let’s go look for Edelgard.”

It wasn’t that hard to find Avarine, snow white against the gray ash. It was quiet now, the roaring flames dying down to crackles, the screams replaced by quiet sobs and mourning wails. It was in this quiet that Jeralt dismounted from Domaghar and said in just as solemn a tone, “Hey, kid, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Ever since we arrived at the monastery, you’ve changed. Before then I’ve never seen you bear your emotions beyond a tiny smile or frown. Not once. But you’ve been angry ever since we saw the carnage here. And you look so happy whenever you’re instructing or talking about the brats. It’s…” He sniffled. “Maybe I’m just being a sentimental old man, but you don’t know how happy it makes me, seeing you like this.”

“It’s because of the students,” Byleth said, watching Avarine swoop through the smoke, graceful and beautiful. It was Sothis waking up, of course, which was the initial spark. But Byleth wasn’t quite sure how to relay that to her father. And besides, it wasn’t just Sothis waking up. That might have been the first part, yes, but without her students there would have been nothing besides her father for her burgeoning emotions to latch on to, to give her something to work towards, to help teach her to be human.

Jeralt reached over and tousled her hair, just like when she was young. “Then maybe it’s a good thing that we came to the monastery, if only so I can see your face light up like that. Or maybe there was never any reason for us to leave in the first place…” 

Wait, what?

_ “Leave?” _

“Dad, wasn’t I born after you left the monastery?”

Domaghar whacked him in the back of the head with her tail. “Nice going, dumbass.” 

“Ugh, you’re right. I’ve really stepped in it, haven’t I?” Jeralt sighed and playfully smacked Domaghar back. “Come meet me in town next time we both have a chance. There’s something I have to tell you in private.”

Byleth nodded. But what was that about? 

“Remember what dad said when we first arrived?” Belial asked. “About stepping into the lion’s den? And how we’re not lions, but I’m a wolf?” 

Of course she remembered. Her father had been so wary of the monastery, and still was. 

_ “I wonder just what spooked your father so badly that he would leave with you and raise you completely divorced from the church.” _

Byleth wanted to know too, and wanted to know if it had anything to do with why Sothis was in her head, or why she didn’t seem to connect with Belial the way others did, or why, before Sothis woke up, she didn’t feel much of anything at all. But she was glad she came to the monastery. So glad to have met her students, her eagles, her pack, who taught and guided her as much as she taught and guided them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, things are starting to boil over as we get closer and closer to the timeskip. I really hope you all enjoyed! And god you have no idea how much I wish I could draw. 
> 
> Also, adobo is absolutely delicious and I don't know why I haven't made it in the past few months I have all the ingredients and no excuses. 
> 
> Also also, Mercedes really needs to get some sleep. 
> 
> Important notice: The Hubernie Fanweek is coming up starting on May 3 and I have a couple of things I really need to write for them, one of which is a charity fic, so I do need to work on those first. But don't you all worry, it shouldn't slow the pace of this by more than a week or two, and you'll still get a ton of writing from me! 
> 
> Anyway, I'll see you all soon; thank you all for being patient and please stay safe out there! We're past the peak here in the tri-state area, but even that is still pretty freaking awful.


	18. Deep Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone takes a deep breath after Remire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient! I've been working overnight all month and I had Hubernie week, which is why it took so long to post this. But I think I'll be able to get back into the swing of things soonish; I'm almost done with my internship, after which my hours will become much more reasonable. Anyway, please read and enjoy!
> 
> _Content warning: Some sexual content._

“Professor, I don’t know if this is appropriate to say, but...admirable work out there, guiding us. I truly believe we did all that we could.”

Objectively, Edelgard was right. The part of her without emotions, the Ashen Demon that was quieter with every passing day, knew that they could not have done a better job. They had saved as many civilians as they could have, and stopped those driven mad from hurting anyone else. 

“I just, I wish we were stronger.”

But they weren’t. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people were dead, and Remire was _ gone. _Her father and his battalions had collected those few hundred survivors and were busy escorting them back to the monastery, while she and Belial checked in on her students. 

They were...doing about how she expected. Actually, a little better. They had grown so much since that first battle in the Red Canyon, better able to handle the rigors and horrors of battle. They had learned to help and rely on each other in a way that rivaled her father’s mercenary team at their absolute best. 

_ “I wonder how much easier it would be, if we were still wandering the continent with your father and his mercenary band. We certainly wouldn’t be thrown into one mess after another,” _ Sothis said, metaphorically leaning over her shoulder like two friends gossiping into one anothers' ears. 

“Which I guess we are, sort of,” Belial said as Byleth scratched behind their ears. If they closed their eyes they could still remember the soothing phantom touch of Sothis petting them in whatever space they and Belial had been transported to when meeting the girl on the throne face to face for the first time. It would be easier, yes, but it would be so much, well, less than what she had now. She still didn’t understand why Rhea had chosen her to lead the Black Eagles, or why she placed so much faith and trust in her. Either way, Byleth had vowed to lead her students well. And now, after months of leading her students, after watching them grow? After helping Bernadetta come out of her shell and Caspar moderate himself, of supporting Petra through her buried insecurities at being othered and looked down on, of being there for Edelgard to lean on with an outstretched hand, should she ever reach for it?

They were her students, her pups. She would look after them and lead them well, not because anyone told her to, but because she loved them. 

_ “Well said,” _ Sothis said, _ “I never thought we’d grow to care about our students so much.” _

Which is why, the nobles who tormented so many of her charges? The Death Knight? Solon? They’d better pray she wouldn’t find them. 

“My teacher?” Byleth’s attention drifted back to Edelgard, who reached up to stroke Avarine’s wing in time with her words. “We’re only human, and we have to keep going and stay positive, even though all the horror.”

“Or at the very least, keep moving forward,” Avarine added, though she looked past Byleth and Belial to Hubert, who nodded politely to Flayn’s effusive thanks for protecting her with his dark magic. Thanily was quiet by his side.

“Good strategies are made of rope,” Belial said. “If one breaks, tie a knot and keep going.”

“Speaking of which, I hear that the so-called ‘Flame Emperor’ also appeared in Remire, and Hubert told me you spoke with him.”

Ah, yes, that. “He said he wasn’t involved, and then asked me to join forces with him.”

_ “Which, can you believe that audacity?! And honestly, if the Flame Emperor really wasn’t involved in that, then why didn’t we see him trying to stop it?” _She could feel the helpless anger and grief at the massacre in Sothis’s voice as strong as—no, even stronger than—her own. 

“It sounds like you were rather offended by even the suggestion,” Edelgard said. On her shoulders, Avarine clenched her talons so tightly as to leave marks into those thick leather pauldrons. Edelgard continued, undeterred, “That makes sense. It’s hard to trust someone without knowing who they are, or how they’re connected to all this.”

And it was hard for Edelgard to trust people in general. “Thank you, Edelgard,” Byleth said. 

“For what?”

“For trusting me.” For opening up to her.

“I...Thank you, my teacher. I don’t know how this year would have been without you, but I feel I am a...fuller person because of you.” She looked back at the refugees. “Even if the Flame Emperor’s words are true, his objectives are still unclear. But hopefully some day he will reveal his true intentions, without that mask, and you can look into his eyes and decide what you believe.”

That was...odd. Just as Byleth opened her mouth to respond, even though she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say, Monica’s wine-dark hair appeared over the horizon as she sprinted towards them. And Edelgard...froze up. No, closed off, like a turtle in her shell.

Wait, wasn’t Monica with Tomas? Or rather, Solon? “Monica, are you okay? Tomas didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Oh, Professor Byleth! I’m perfectly peachy-keen, thanks for asking!” she all but shouted in her normal effervescent tone, her cuckoo daemon hopping back and forth from shoulder to tree branch. “Though I heard what happened! That’s absolutely awful! I’m so glad you and Edel and Hubiekins and everyone else are all okay!”

_ “Hubiekins?” _ Sothis was definitely making mental notes for teasing purposes later. 

“Ah, Monica. It is good to see that you are also unharmed,” Edelgard said stiffly.

“Speaking of that, Edel, I need to ask you something. Am I interrupting?”

“No, not at all. If you’ll excuse me, Professor.”

The look on Avarine's face lingered long after they left, though Byleth wouldn’t know exactly why for some time.

* * *

Bernie honesty almost forgot that it was her birthday. To be fair, she hadn’t celebrated it in years. The last time anybody had thrown any type of celebration for her was when Mal settled, and that was nothing special. In recent years the only marker she had for her birthday was the servants sneaking her sewing and embroidery supplies, or her father skipping the chair for a day. So when Professor Byleth invited her for tea after class, Bernadetta instantly jumped to the conclusion that she was in trouble, and she and Mal frantically rifled through any possible transgressions she may have committed over the past few weeks. 

There…weren’t as many things that they marked down as unforgivable sins as she would have, a few months ago. 

But still! She must have done something wrong! Why else would Professor Byleth ask to see her in private, if not to tell her she did something horribly wrong and was now in all sorts of trouble? And lecture her...over her...favorite tea and yummy-looking cake? 

“Happy birthday, Bernadetta,” Professor Byleth said, and oh. It was her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. Professor Byleth had remembered, and made a tea party for her just like she did for everyone else. 

“Not just that,” Malecki added from atop her head. “Bernadetta, look around.” This wasn’t the usual spot where Professor Byleth had tea with the students or her father, but the place where Dorothea said Edelgard had held her fuck crests club. It was further out of the way, with slightly higher hedges that would hide most prying eyes. 

“Professor Byleth found a spot where nobody would bother us,” Malecki whispered, still awed despite months of the Professor listening and caring. It was still hard to believe, some days, that there were so many people in the world who cared about her, and didn’t think she was useless. More than that—that she was useful, and worth something. And it was even harder to believe that they would accommodate her and Mal instead of just telling the two of them to suck it up and deal with it. Funnily enough, knowing her professor and classmates—no, friends, she had friends now, and a boyfriend too!—understood when she needed alone time actually made it a bit easier to go outside more often. 

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” Mal murmured, because Bernadetta was too overwhelmed to speak. 

“Thank you for being part of our class,” Belial said as Professor Byleth sipped her tea. She had even gotten Bernie a present, some brand-new gardening tools perfect for the greenhouse! 

The rest of the day was a wonderful blur of support and love that Bernadetta still needed to get used to, a little bit even now. Cake and smiles and Hubert holding back Caspar when his exuberance threatened to overwhelm her. Avarine congratulating Malecki on a job well done in Remire because it was too raw and awful for Edelgard and Bernadetta, or honestly any of them, to talk about it directly. Flayn, who seemed to have no such compunctions, effusively thanked her, Ferdinand, and especially Hubert (who had been _ amazing _with that Dark Spikes spell, his magic was seriously creepy sometimes but also so incredible!) for protecting her from the Death Knight back in Remire. It was, it was too much love and support for someone who had been starved of it her whole life. She needed it given slower, or she’d drown from it. 

“I...I...you guys!” Bernadetta cried, “Thank you so much! You’re all so amazing!” Words failed her, and again she was reduced to incoherent garbling into Malecki’s spines. Although, this time, she was overwhelmed for another reason entirely than she was used to. She liked this overwhelming feeling better than the other kind, but it was still, well, a bit too much. 

And again it was Hubert, _ Hubert, _who saw that it was too much. Ferdinand was wonderful and so good to her, but he still sometimes ran roughshod without someone telling him to hold back. Hubert, however, was somehow able to tell; he and Thanily worked in concert to give her some badly-needed space, just enough to catch her breath and finish the celebration, because it would be way too embarrassing to not be able to finish her own birthday celebration. 

But Bernadetta and Malecki did, even though they needed some alone time in their room to recover from it all. 

“Why is it still so much, to get this much caring from everyone?” Bernadetta said to Malecki, even though it was more talking out loud than everything else. They were two halves of the same being, after all. But that also meant he would understand. Even Bernie needed another person to talk to sometimes—or, well, daemon. Another voice, was the point. 

“It’s not like we’ve gotten much of it growing up.”

But now that Bernie got a taste of that support and affection and love of all kinds, she didn’t ever want to go back. So, when the door knocked, and Bernadetta heard Ferdinand and Embrienne’s voices, she didn’t shut him away, but let him in. 

Kissing was nice. Kissing was _ really _nice, beyond what Bernie had ever imagined it could be. And Ferdinand was so attentive, so good at talking and letting her be heard as well. He was going to be the prime minister—there was practically nobody richer or more powerful than the von Aegirs—and he didn’t want her to be submissive, but to work and speak and stand alongside him. 

_ “Father was wrong about everything,” _ Malecki said as he nuzzled and licked Embrienne; the little bee daemon hummed from the contact and Ferdinand’s echoed contentment. 

Bernadetta mirrored the little happy sigh Ferdinand made into her mouth, and curled up into his warmth. She was an eternal loner, had resigned herself to either a loveless marriage or a life as a spinster locked away in her room, but not this. She never thought she would be so lucky as to have this.

She wanted this, and with a growing pleasant squirmy feeling realized she wanted _ more _. The idea was terrifying, but not unpleasant, and it was...kinda exciting? 

So when Ferdinand crept his hand up her blouse and asked, “May I?” Bernadetta nodded, and watched his hand slip under her blouse to gently cup her breasts.

“F-Ferdinand?” His hand was so warm, how could it be so warm? He didn’t think she was too small or anything did he? Father always said that she was always embarrassingly small…

“Goddess, you’re gorgeous,” Ferdinand whispered as he gently kneaded her, his face shining in awe all Bernadetta saw as she closed her eyes and sank into the sensation of Ferdinand’s hands and warmth, of Embrienne nuzzling against Malecki.

She liked this, Bernie realized. Liked the warmth and trust and comfort, having Ferdie kiss her neck as she ran a hand through her hair. Liked their daemons took comfort in one another. She trusted Ferdinand, more than she ever thought possible.

What would she do if he asked her to...well...She looked down at the bulge in his trousers and swallowed. The idea was...it wasn’t unappealing, and the shiver through her wasn’t just from fear alone.

But Ferdinand noticed that shudder and paused. His hand and that warmth abruptly vanished and he sat up again, the very picture of professionalism despite the flush in his face. “Bernadetta, is everything okay? Would you like me to stop?”

“I…” She wanted him to keep going, but at the same time that flutter of nervousness grew. “Maybe we should, ah, slow down?”

“Oh! Of course; I’m terribly sorry!” Ferdinand pulled back his hand, and then pulled his whole body away. When he came back to cuddle, he made sure to wrap up a blanket in between them both. And it was...it was nice. It was soothing, and although that was enough a little selfish part of Bernie was crying out for more. 

Mal kept his thoughts to himself, at least until Ferdinand left for the evening. But no sooner had the door closed than he jumped into Bernie’s lap, tugged the strings on her hoodie, and vented his frustration in her face. “Why did you do that, Bernie?! I was enjoying that! You were enjoying that! Ferdinand and Embrienne were both enjoying that! Why did you stop?”

“I, I, I wasn’t ready!” Bernadetta wailed. Oh, just how pathetic was this, that Ferdinand’s hand under her shirt could make her freeze up like that! “I thought I was but I guess I’m not.”

“Hey, hey, Bernie.” Mal tapped her nose with his paw. “I’m part of you, remember? So if I’m ready to go a bit beyond kissing then so are you! We just need to...to work some things out. Maybe...maybe talk to someone?”

No. No no no no no. How could Mal suggest that? How could Mal even _ think _ that?! Talking to someone, even Byleth about, about...Bernie screamed into her pillow. 

“No, agh, you’re right, you’re right,” Mal said, curled up into a little ball again. “I just, I thought that maybe Dorothea might be helpful…”

“Dorothea?” As Bernadetta forced herself to calm down, she slowly realized that this wasn’t such a bad idea. Dorothea was her friend, and she was getting along better with Ferdinand, and, and she knew a lot about this sort of thing. And was comfortable with it in a way that Bernie could only admire, and sort of envy.

Which was how, a few days later, Bernadetta clutched Malecki in one hand for courage and knocked on Dorothea’s door with the other.

“D-Dorothea?”

The door swung open mid-knock “Bern! Come in, come in!” Dorothea stepped aside, Calphour fluttering to the bedpost so Bernadetta could quickly step inside to the safety of an enclosed space. “Wow, you really are in the middle of a growth spurt.”

Bernadetta tugged down her sleeve, which was once again too short—and she had just let it out a couple of months ago! She was taller than Edelgard now which was, uh, wow that was crazy to think about. 

_ “We can do this, Bernie!” _

_ “You’re right, Mal!” _ “Uh, Dorothea? I have a question for you. Or, well, a request. It’s about Ferdinand.”

“Bern. Did he do something?”

“No! Not at all! Its, uh, okay…” It took some fits and starts, but she eventually got the whole story out. She wouldn't have been able to do it without Cal placing an encouraging wing over Malecki’s head and spines, and Dorothea spurring her onward.

“So yeah,” Bernadetta said when she was all done, “I kinda figured you’d be able to help.”

“Hm. I definitely could, but Bern, it seems like you need more help with the emotional side of intimacy, not the, ah, physical aspects. I mean, you know what you like, right?” She nodded, and Dorothea continued, “So all you need to do is tell Ferdie that.”

Calphour chimed in, “I never, ever thought I’d say this about Ferdie, but he’ll listen to you.” 

“I know, but,” Aahh it was so hard to talk about even though she and Mal wanted to! 

Dorothea nodded. “Yeah, I need to bring in the big spells. Bern, you are being so incredibly brave right now, and thank you for trusting me. I promise this will be okay.” She ran out, leaving Bernie alone in Dorothea’s nice-smelling dorm. 

“Oh no,” Mal immediately said, “You’re not going anywhere, Bernie. We need to have this conversation, and you know it!”

She did, she knew she did, but it was just so scary.

“I know things like this are scary to talk about, but I think it’ll be okay! I mean, everything has been turning out better than expected so far, right?” 

They had been; this had been the best year of her life, in so many ways. And she could...Dorothea was her friend, she could trust her! 

“Exactly!” Malecki was on the windowsill now. “So this is gonna be a good thing, Bernie!”

“Mal, it’s way too scary!” She was going to bolt, she knew it, her fear was about to completely override her and— 

“No it won’t!” Malecki scrambled through a crack in the window, and glared at Bernadetta from across the glass. “You’re staying right here and we are having this talk.”

Agh! She couldn’t leave, not with Mal on the other side of the window! Bernadetta pulled at the window, but it was closed. “Agh! Mal, you’re a complete jerk! You’re the worst daemon ever!”

And then she heard Mercedes’ soft and tired voice. “Bernadetta, Dorothea told me that you needed some advice and...oh dear, is this a bad time?”

* * *

Most people would never guess it, but Felix was an enormous crybaby growing up. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to be! It wasn’t proper, it wasn’t _ manly _. Only babies cried; real knights of Faerghus held in their emotions and never showed their weakness or pain. And when Felix was a disgustingly naive child, he wanted to be a knight and a guardian of the king, just like his brother, more than anything. But no matter how much Felix tried to hold it in, or Bismalt told him to be strong and brave like Glenn and Argentia, he could never restrain how he felt. It made him so upset to see his friends argue, or his father’s worry, what else could he have done once he reached that threshold but let out how he felt? 

And then Glenn died, and there wasn’t any Goddess-damned fucking point to it anymore. 

His father was so still at the funeral, his daemon the perfect example of stoicism by his side, and as much as Felix tried to mirror that he could feel Bismalt wavering by his side, doing everything daemonly possible to not shift into a tiny puppy and run away whimpering. Surely his father felt the same way! Glenn was Felix’s brother, but he was also his father’s son. 

And what did the old man say? 

“He died like a true knight.”

Not mourning his death, but _ lauding _ it. It was as if the fact that Glenn was dead and gone and never coming back, and that he died _ horribly _ meant nothing compared to his demonstration of chivalry. 

_ “I don’t give a shit about chivalry; I want my brother, I want Argentia!” _Bismalt screamed in horrified disbelief across their link. Felix wanted to shout that out loud, but what would it fucking matter? If the old man didn’t care about Glenn’s life, then no way would he care about Felix’s. 

Glenn was dead, and Felix missed him so much but the old man didn’t care. Ingrid was too busy worshiping that “true knight” bullshit instead of waking up to the fact that Faerghus chivalry was nothing more than fucking glorified death worship, Dimitri was...Dimitri had it even worse even before Delcabia showed the world that he was a wild animal and nothing more, and Sylvain went weird. Sylvain was the only one not directly affected, and he tried to hold them all together by being even more of a debauched fool, but Zepida went weirdly quiet, especially when the topic of brothers came up. 

So there was no point to crying, or asking for help, or anything like that. That was weakness in Faerghus, after all. There wasn’t anyone Felix could talk to about the pain inside, the resentment, the deep grief that he wasn’t allowed to express. Nobody other than Bismalt and Felix could only talk to himself for so long. So, eventually, he stopped talking about his feelings entirely. Covered his concern with a veneer of sarcasm and hostility, threw himself into competitiveness and caustic remarks until Bismalt settled as a Brigidian fighting fish and Felix forgot how to do anything else. Until it was nearly impossible to say to even Bismalt, much less anyone else, “I’m worried about the boar.”

Just hearing about what happened in Remire and listening to the survivors completely set him off; Felix shuddered to think what would have happened if the boar had witnessed the carnage firsthand. As it was, the only things left on the boar’s mind were training harder, hunting down that thing pretending to be Tomas and the rest of those sadists, goring their daemons, and crushing their skulls. If the boar wasn’t saying it, if he was smiling and nodding to Hanneman’s lectures and pretending he was fine, then that snuffling beast he dared to call a daemon wouldn’t stop muttering it under her breath. 

Felix was...well. He’d seen this before, when the beast showed the boar’s true face. And despite his warnings, everyone seemed perfectly content to pretend that the boar had settled as a boar for a perfectly benign reason. He’d shouted the alarm for months, years now, and only when Delcabia started muttering about crushing skulls did they listen. 

“It’s not like I want to be right,” Bismalt said, swimming agitated circles in the large classroom tank. “But Dima is gone and he’s not coming back. Why is Mercedes even trying; you can’t reason with a wild animal. And this wild animal is going to be king! Why does nobody else see what a bad idea this is?!”

“Because everyone here seems to have the idea that if you pretend everything is okay hard enough, it will be.” Which was bullshit, of course. You only needed to take one look at Sylvain and Zepida to see just how much pretending everything was fine _ didn’t _ make everything fine. But no, everyone seemed perfectly content to pretend that the boar was an actual functional human being with a normal daemon, or that Sylvain wasn’t slowly tearing himself from the inside out, or that the dead were anything other than dead and gone. 

“I feel like we’re swimming in circles, trying to warn everyone,” Bismalt said.

“You are swimming in circles.”

Bismalt flicked his tail at Felix. “I meant metaphorically, jackass.” 

He was right, but Felix had no idea what else he could do. He could leave, he _ should _ leave, just wash his hands of the whole fucking place, but...but…

Ugh. Goddess damn it. Not without Sylvain and Ingrid. And who would even try to cage the boar without him?

“Felix?”

He would recognize that deep careful voice anywhere. Great, the boar’s attack dog. Felix suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I lent Ashe some of my cooking tools and he left them in the classroom,” Dedue said, quiet as always. “I would retrieve them myself, but…” he waved a hand back at Levia, whose horns jutted out past the doorframe. The cooking tools were on Ashe’s desk, just barely in range of Felix without having to take Bismalt out of the tank.

Ugh, fine. He made his way over to Ashe’s desk, pretended not to let the tug of separation show on his face, then got as close to Dedue as he could and tossed the tools at him. Dedue easily caught them in his giant dinner plate of a hand. 

“Thank you,” he said. There was an awkward pause, then Dedue asked, “Has His Highness been sleeping well?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“You know His Highness tends to hide the full extent of his condition.”

_ “So why not push harder? You’re the only one who can get through to the boar anymore!” _Bismalt shouted. 

“Then why not switch rooms with me? They have lifts for oversized daemons and you’ll be closer to the boar. And I won’t have to listen to Sylvain’s sex noises anymore, so we both win,” Felix said.

Bismalt swam to the top of the tank to better eye Dedue and Levia, who awkwardly stood behind him. “For the record? No, he hasn’t been sleeping. And he’s been getting sloppy in his training too. What have you actually been doing about that? You’re the only one the boar listens to anymore.”

Felix shot his dameon a glare, but too late. Dedue closed his eyes. “Mercedes has been cooking with me and Ashe for several months now; it’s been healing, in a way. I have been trying to get Dimitri to join, but he refuses every time. I fear this may require the intervention of an authority figure and although Professor Hanneman is an excellent instructor, this may be beyond his capabilities.”

“Hmph.” Felix would never say it out loud, but it was a shame Professor Byleth was so caught up in teaching and guiding her students. The few chances he had to spar with the Ashen Demon were an absolute delight; Petra was the only other one able to match them both in speed but Professor Byleth was more familiar with his fighting style and so was able to give more pertinent advice. More importantly for the boar, despite Professor Byleth’s creepy blankness or their even more disturbing ability to separate from Belial, she was unnaturally good at talking to people. She might actually be able to cage the boar. 

But that wasn’t going to happen, so there was no use dwelling on it. 

“This is stupid,” Felix said, fishing out Bismalt and putting him back in his capsule so he could actually talk to Dedue rather than shouting at him from across the classroom. “I’m serious. If being closer to the boar will help him sleep and you think that might actually help, then go ahead.”

Dedue looked at Levia, who answered in a voice that was just as soft and just as strange coming from one of the largest daemons Felix had ever seen—and Argentia had been a musk ox! “I am from Duscur. From what I understand there was a great controversy with me even attending the academy in the first place; to stay in the upper dormitories even at a time like this would be—“

“Will you shut up about being from Duscur?!” Bismalt snapped, fins beating with every word. “You’re from Duscur, great, like I give a fuck! I hate you, but it’s because you’re the boar’s mindless attack dog, not because of your heritage! I’m not the monks, I’m not Ingrid, and if any of them start in with you I’ll tell them it was my idea because it _ is! _ If you want to actually help the boar instead of just killing for him, then how about you stop wallowing and fucking do something about it!”

Bismalt was the one who snapped, but it was Felix who locked eyes with Dedue, staring the giant man down despite the height difference. 

“Very well,” he said. “Hopefully they will not need to modify the lift for Levia’s weight.” 

Felix nodded, and hoped this would at least leash the boar, though he did honestly doubt it would work. But he really didn’t know what would, at this point. 

* * *

Dorothea learned to slip into four-eye from a very young age. It was something she had to do, to stay as safe as she could on the streets of Enbarr. Nobody could sneak up on her, not when she was watching them through the eyes of a still-unsettled Calphour. He was very good at being a lion, those days. When Manuela found her and the opera saved her, that ability found another use. 

Cal perched on the chair, and Dorothea watched herself dance through his eyes. Sure he was a tiny songbird now, but he didn’t need to be a lion anymore, not when she could make the very air roar with her own thunder.

“Do you think it’s unfair to represent the Black Eagles in the White Heron Cup? I mean, we’re the only ones with professional experience.”

They paused in thought. The other two representatives were Felix and Lorenz. “No,” they said in unison. Besides, as the Golden Deer professor, Manuela would be helping Lorenz with his routine (just how would he incorporate Vinca into it? Most daemons on the stage were smaller. Would she still wear those ridiculous golden horns?) and Dorothea was eager to show her old mentor just what she had learned, and how well she could still sing and dance. 

“Can you believe that Edie is really going to tear down the entire rotten nobility? I never thought we’d have someone that high up actually realizing just how untenable the whole situation is, or actually doing something about it.”

“And she recruited us, and Petra!” Cal flitted from the chair to the desk. “Thea, what do you think Edie and Ava want us to do?” 

“Probably selling her reforms to the general public, as well as whatever nobility might listen. We are still beloved as the Mystical Songstress after all.” 

“That’s true. We should definitely brush up on our politics though. Without asking Ferdie.” True, he wasn’t as bad as he once was, but no way was she going to Ferdie for help on something so important! Plus even if he wasn’t a complete twit anymore, she doubted he’d take kindly to Edie’s plan. 

It wasn’t like they could go to the library right now though. Ever since Solon revealed himself the place was sealed off as Seteth went through the books and documents one by one to see if any of the collection had been tampered with. Even if that wasn’t happening, the entire structure felt cursed, somehow. Just how long had Solon masqueraded as Tomas, and who else could be pretending to be someone else? And just who was this Flame Emperor? 

Something told Thea that she’d find out soon enough, for now, well she’d borrowed some books from Edie and Hubie. Dorothea settled back into the extremely dry theses on tax reform of the early 1100’s when she heard a tentative knock on the door. 

“Dorothea? May I come in?”

“Ferdie?” What was he doing here? Despite Ferdinand’s efforts to turn Dorothea’s hatred to friendship—efforts that were starting to succeed largely due to how good he was towards Bernadetta and his ability to actually get a clue—even Ferdie, nosy little bee that he was, knew not to bug her in her room. This must have been something important, and so she opened the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Ah, Dorothea!” Despite his usual smile and blustering confidence, Embry was not flying lazy circles around his head but crawling nervously from finger to finger, hand to hand. She crawled up one wrist as he used the other hand to nervously rub the back of his neck. “Thank you so much for answering. First of all, I would like to congratulate you for being Professor Byleth’s selection to represent our esteemed house in the White Heron Cup. I have no doubt that you will perform admirably and lead us to victory.”

“Thank you.” She knew just how much he had wanted to be picked, and he really wasn’t that bad of a singer or dancer himself. And she had to give Ferdinand some modicum of respect for being such a graceful loser about it; most nobles would have thrown a complete shit fit if a _ commoner _had been selected for an inter-house tournament over them. 

Okay, fine, he really had changed from the arrogant and disdainful little boy that had leered at her in the fountains and then judged her so harshly for being poor. “What is it, Ferdie?”

“I, ah, I would like to ask you for some advice, if that is okay? Ferdie asked, still uncharacteristically nervous for some reason. He again cupped his hands together and let Embry walk back and forth across them. “This is by no means an attack on your character, and you are in no way obligated to answer! Please, feel free to call me out for the fool that I am and slam the door on my face if you are in any way offended!”

“Oh?” Now she had to hear what Ferdie had to say. Cal hopped onto the brim of her cap, hopping from one foot to another with anticipation. “What could you possibly need my advice for?”

“Well, you see, oh this is awkward, well Bernadetta and I have been courting for some time, and we have discussed being more...intimate.”

“...Intimate.” Glee began to bubble in her. Was this going where she thought it was going?

“Ah, yes! This is something that both of us have discussed and found agreeable at some point in the near future. However! I am fully aware that my experience in this field is...lacking, and in retrospect I do not trust the information that I have been given, particularly when it comes to pleasing the other party. I...want Bernadetta to enjoy this, whatever we might do. She deserves no less.”

“So...you came to me. For sex advice.” It was way too satisfying to see him flinch at the frank term. Did he know that Bernadetta had come to her for the same thing? Probably not.

“Well, I...Yes. And this is not in any way a judgement upon you! I just, I know that you and Bernadetta are good friends, and I believed that you might have spoken about such...things. I was also...Dorothea, you are very comfortable with your body and, the, ah,” He made a vague gesture; Embrienne had vanished somewhere in his hair out of sheer embarrassment, “So I believed that you might be able to assist me with such a predicament.” 

It took every last bit of Dorothea’s training for her and Calphour to both keep a straight face. 

_ “You know, we have to give Ferdie credit. Most guys, especially snooty nobles like him, would just consider themselves sex gods when they’re actually two-pump-chumps. At least he’s coming to us for advice, and he wants Bern to enjoy this!” _

_ “Cal? Ferdie. Is coming to us. For sex advice. Sex advice! This is the best thing ever!” _

_ “I...Thea, you talk. I think if I open my beak I’ll just start laughing and I won’t be able to stop.” _

And Ferdie looked unusually vulnerable, or rather not his normal overconfident self. Sure that smile was on his face but now it was more of a nervous grin. Embry still wasn’t visible but he could see the little bee daemon fidgeting under his hair. So Dorothea bit back a grin as she said, “Of course I can help you out, Ferdie.” She shot out her hand and grabbed him by the cravat. “Don’t worry, by the time we’re done you’ll have Bern screaming your name. Is she a screamer? I bet she’s a screamer.”

To her and Cal’s credit, they managed to wait until the door was closed for him to fall off her hat cackling in sheer delight. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading I know this chapter was a bit slower, just some humor and a breath of fresh air. But next chapter we'll be back to a mix of fluff, drama, and bending canon into a circle!


	19. Gambit Boost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students of Garreg Mach try to play at normalcy just in time for the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient. This chapter was rather difficult to get done thanks to real-world events. I hope you’re all staying safe out there 
> 
> Black Lives Matter. I’m actually doing some fanfic commissions for charity; check out my twitter (@coffee_included) for details.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Discussions of the Fodlan version of police brutality and violence against a marginalized group. This was just bad timing; I’ve had this plotted out for a bit and ended up toning it down slightly. It’s section 2 of the chapter and one of those “setting up pieces for later” deals so feel free to skip over it and come back to it later if it’s too much right now.

Claude shivered and pulled Simurg closer. Why hadn’t anybody told him the mountains would get this cold this fast?! It was near the end of the Ethereal Moon and already a rime of white ice clung to the cliff upon which Garreg Mach sat, all the way down to the ravine below.

“And it’s a _damp_ cold,” Simurg moaned, snuggling in against Claude’s fur-lined cloak. “How can anyone live like this?”

“How can anyone _sleep_ like this?” Claude added. “Are people here part bear or something?”

“Sleep? What are you talking about?” Simurg poked her head out from the collar of his shirt and flicked her tongue. 

Claude's response was to point at a figure curled up against the leeward side of a large tree overlooking the ravine. He couldn't make out anything else, but only one person would wrap himself up in a blanket and fall asleep in the winter’s chill. 

“Really Linhardt? There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Especially in winter. How are you not frozen solid?”

“Magic.” Oh, right. He struggled with the Almyran magic systems as it was; the Fodlanese systems completely eluded him. Still, it seemed like a lot of effort for the notoriously passive and lazy Linhardt to put into a continuous spell. “Why not use a hammock?”

“I tried that. I’ll just roll over and fall out in the middle of my nap. It’s far easier to just cast a warming spell and not have to worry about waking up with a painful thud. Also, I’d have to find two good trees, and drag around a hammock everywhere I go, which is such a pain. And it’s not like Runilite is large enough to carry it for me.”

“I wouldn’t even if you asked,” the red panda daemon added. 

Okay, that made sense, at least through the...unique lens of Linhardt logic. Still, “Okay, so you don’t want to any physical effort at all, ever. Why are you even out in the cold? Isn’t your room a better place to nap?” And Claude had heard that it was even colder up in Faerghus. No wonder so many of the Blue Lions had large daemons; they’d freeze solid without something to curl up against at night.

Linhardt yawned and pulled himself into an impressively-exaggerated full body stretch. “It is, but I can’t see the river or ravine from my room.”

“Why do you care about the river or ravine so much?” Linhardt tended to flit from one interest to the other, though they tended to link back to crests in some way in the end, but while most people dismissed him as lazy and lost in hypotheticals, the young man was frighteningly intelligent. If something about this monastery and its secrets piqued Linhardt’s interest, then it was probably worth paying attention to. 

_“Or Linhardt could be obsessing over the molding in the cathedral or something,”_ Simurg muttered across their bond. 

_“Yes, but I prefer to be optimistic.”_

“Look down there.” At the bottom of the ravine, there was a thin river whose banks were lined with ice. Trash piled up on the sides of the river, covered by a thin rime of ice and snow. A mountain goat picked its way through the trash. 

“There’s garbage. And a mountain goat. Linhardt, what’s so fascinating about that?”

“Most of our food waste is composted in the gardens or fed to the fish, and we recycle quite a bit of the rest of it. True, Leonie takes it to an extreme, but even so doesn’t that seem like a lot more trash than what we would produce?” He pointed back at the mountain goat, who pawed at some of the trash close to the trees. “Besides, if I remember correctly, mountain goats tend to live in groups.”

_“Claude, is he implying…?” _

Claude quickly wracked his mind. Levia was a cape buffalo, Domaghar a horse. Vincatel was a red deer and neither she nor Lorenz would let anyone forget it. Catherine...No, her daemon was a sheep, and the cheerful gatekeeper had a zebra. No mountain goats that he was aware of. And the river...He traced his eyes upstream, saw where it cut under the bridge leading up to the monastery, then turned back and seemed to vanish just...under…”Linhardt, are you saying that there are people living under the monastery that we don’t know about?”

Linhardt nodded. “It’s quite possible. You weren’t down there when we rescued Flayn, but there is an entire labyrinth of tunnels and rooms hidden away under the monastery. It is certainly reasonable to suspect that, over time, several people took up residence there.”

Simurg slithered out of his sleeve to peer over the ledge, as far as she dared to look. “Okay, but why would people live under the monastery? And the church would have to know about it, so why would they permit such a thing?”

Linhardt shrugged but said nothing, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation. So Runilite picked up where he left off and said, “Well they let you into the Monastery and you’re Almyran, so clearly the Church has its own reasoning for things. Oh, I was supposed to keep that a secret, wasn’t I?”

Slowly, as if he had spotted quarry and could not scare it away, Claude and Simurg turned to face Linhardt, Runilite, and that infuriating look halfway between apathy and mild amusement shared between them both. “You know, Linhardt,” he said in too-even tones, and he knew it, get your shit together Claude! “It’s rather rude to assume someone isn’t from Fodlan just because they’re only half-Fodlanese.”

“I know, but I didn’t say you were from Fodlan. True, it’s a guess, but a rather educated one if I do say so myself. If I remember correctly, the name ‘Simurg’ is derived from a mythical keeper of knowledge in Almyran lore. I can’t imagine somebody in Fodlan naming their child’s daemon after a foreign mythological figure, even if that child is half-Almyran. Especially if that child is half-Almyran, given some of the rumors.”

Simurg whipped around, lightning fast. “Say that again,” she hissed towards Runilite, fangs bared and tail rattling. 

Linhardt shrugged and scooped up Runilite, seemingly unfazed. “I’m just saying, it’s rather unlikely. Furthermore, I heard that you were a complete unknown until you appeared out of nowhere.what was it, a couple of years ago? Let’s say you were the product of a Riegan and an Almyran ‘servant.’ Even if that were the case you would have been kept in Fodlan and trained to be the next heir the moment your Crest presented itself. But that was clearly not the case. Therefore, I suspect that you were born outside Fodlan entirely.” He cocked his head. “Am I wrong? Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. It’s not like I particularly care.” 

“Goodbye, Linhardt.” Claude pulled himself away from the ravine and stalked off. Only when he was sure that the young Crest scholar was no longer following him did he lean against a tree. Fucking dammit. He pushed back the sweat from his brow, beading up despite the chill of winter, took deep breaths and willed his heart to slow.

“Claude, why did you do that?” Simurg slithered out of his sleeve entirely, wrapped herself in a gentle pressure around his waist just like when he was younger and so much more naive. “Linhardt is brilliant, and I think he’s right about the tunnels under the monastery! We should ask him for more details.”

“I know. Just…” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Not now. Not after what he said. What about Edelgard? Or Hubert? They’re both just as intelligent and I still need to challenge them to a game.”

“Are you _mad?!_” 

“At least I can get a read on them!” That was perhaps the most infuriating thing of all—Linhardt was somewhere between passive, resigned, and completely apathetic, and Claude couldn’t tell where exactly he was or what threads he could start pulling. 

“Oh, really now? Then riddle me this: what are they plotting?”

“I…” Because that was the problem. Edelgard and Hubert were most certainly plotting something, and he was fairly sure that their goals largely aligned with his. But they were so damn secretive about it! He’d go and ask them directly, but ever since that club meeting gone wrong they weren’t talking. And if he was seen asking too many questions…

Well, Linhardt was right about one thing. His Almyran blood was a liability, especially given just how badly this year was going. But he did have one other piece now in play.

“Let’s talk to Hilda,” Claude said to Simurg. “Every piece of gossip in this academy reaches her ears at some point. If anybody knows anything about people living in the basement, it would be her.”

* * *

The mountain goat daemon watched until the flutter of motion up on the top of the cliff vanished. Then, in a rare moment of caution, waited a little while longer. Only when she was reasonably sure they were gone did Drusionary finish chipping away the thin sheen of ice covering the waterproofed bag, pick it up, and make her way back to Balthus. 

“You see?” Balthus boasted once they made their way back to the safety of the tunnel, “Told ya I’d have no problem sneaking out there.”

“I still say you’re a complete idiot, B,” Hapi replied. Yuri could just feel the repressed sigh trapped in her throat. Thankfully Hapi’s self-control was like iron, and she had Malka Foss to channel her frustration into. “If the guards saw you they could very well come on running down here. And if one of those students saw us, they might freak and tell the knights, and then we’d really be in trouble.”

“Wow, you’re being really harsh,” Balthus said under Drusionary—the mountain goat daemon had taken the upper hoof and pinned him to the ground. “Come on Constance, back me up here?”

“I think not! That was the utter height of foolishness, Balthus! Do you truly wish to bring the wrath of the knights down upon our heads once more? Or have the last vestiges of brains finally been knocked loose from your skull?” Rubine, as theatrical as his peacock form would suggest, punctuated Constance’s words with pecks to Drusionary’s legs. 

“Ow! Hey Constance, I feel that too!” Still, it didn’t stop Balthus from using the distraction to wriggle from under Drusionary and pin her to the ground. “What about you, Yuri? You wouldn’t abandon your old friend Balthus, would you?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know.” He tapped his chin in mock thought, sharing an amused glance with Icarus. “I’m a lot faster and stealthier than you are. Not to mention Icarus over here is, shall we say, more inconspicuous than Drusionary.” For emphasis, the blue jay daemon winked and vanished under his cloak. 

“Traitor. Well, either way I got the preserving salts back, and they’re still sealed!” The large sack slumped against Drusionary’s horns. “So we’ll be good for the winter, food-wise! ‘Sides, they found the lost kid up top, right? So there’s no reason for knights down here anymore.”

“Yeah, like that’s ever stopped them,” Hapi muttered. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I kinda miss Aelfric. Sure he was a smarmy paternalistic creep, but he actually gave a shit about us.”

That was true, and his standing within the church—at least before he had been disgraced—was high enough that if he spoke on behalf of Abyss, people would listen. Rhea would have made time for him rather than leaving the place as a vague concern in the back of her mind, swept aside by other Archbishop duties on the surface. But Aelfric had been gone for years, and the little girl up top—Flayn, was it?—went missing about two months ago.

_“I mean, I get why the knights stormed Abyss, it’s a maze down here and we know the way around better than anyone. And some of the denizens of Abyss are serious criminals, not just impulsive idiots like Balthus.”_ Icarus fluttered their wings in distress at the memory. _“But it’s one thing to search the place, and another thing to…”_

Yuri shook his head, but the images remained. The knights bursting into Abyss with no warning, turning over cartons of carefully salted fish and tearing through what few possessions the people down here had. Responding to his peoples’ protests with shouts if they were lucky and gauntlets if they were not. And then someone threw a rock at a knight’s ibex daemon, and her human drew his sword…

Balthus had managed to pull one of the youths out of the river afterwards, before the waters separated him from his daemon or washed them both away. He’d probably live.

By the second day—heck even by the second hour of Yuri was being honest—he was about to crawl out of Abyss and beg Archbishop Rhea for clemency and mercy, exile and pride be damned. But just as Yuri was about to make his way up top and throw himself at the feet of the church for mercy upon Abyss, Flayn turned up alive and mostly unharmed. The knights all but vanished without so much as an awkward apology for blaming Abyss and taking out their frustrations on a group of people who couldn’t fight back. 

_“You know what the really stupid thing is?”_ Yuri thought to Icarus, _“If they had just asked for help, then we would have given it. Sure maybe not willingly, but nobody knows the tunnels down here better than us. But nobody down here would ever lend a hand now after their little stunt.”_ Any goodwill that Aelfric had generated was gone, unlikely to ever return. Trust really was such a fragile thing. 

“Hey, Yuribird, come back to earth.” Hapi’s hand in front of his face shook him out of those thoughts. “Okay, so we finally got all the preserving stuff back, but everyone down here is still waiting for the Church to come back. So what’s the plan?”

“We shall not retreat further into Abyss!” Constance said. “I am Constance and Rubine von Nuvelle, and we do not surrender!” Rubine’s long train of feathers flared up with her words. 

“Uh-huh, and what about when you fled Adrestia and made your way down here?” Yuri couldn’t help but tease, just to see Constance’s face turn purple and Rubine start shrieking at him and Icarus both. It was also good for breaking the tension that had been building for months, and showed no signs of abating. 

Yuri sighed as he looked upon his...his family, he supposed. His people, same as his old gang were his people (and still would be, if he ever saw them again). Even if it was a shadow, a mockery of the Officer’s Academy, the Ashen Wolves House was still one of the best ideas that Aelferic had ever come up with, a good enough idea that it stuck around even after the creepy old cardinal was gone. It had become a badge of honor of sorts in Abyss to be part of the Ashen Wolves House, and its “graduates” took care of the community when nobody else would. They kept the sewers as safe as possible, mediated arguments, distributed food and shelter, taught the young children down here how to read and write and stay away from those up top…

And couldn’t do anything but watch as the knights stormed Abyss anyway. 

“We hunker down for the winter like always. Icarus and I will keep searching the tunnels for another safe spot, though even if I find a place we can’t move there until after the spring floods.”

“Great. That’s wonderful. And until then? I may be the almighty King of Grappling, but even I can’t take on all the knights at once.”

Hapi chimed in, “I mean, I could summon a whole load of beasts down on their heads but that seems like the kind of thing that would create more problems than it solves.” 

But what would they do? Nobody was coming to save them. The Archbishop may have cared, but Yuri was increasingly convinced that it was in that vague, distantly-benevolent way, much as so many people would tut sympathy and pities at his mother when she couldn’t get quite enough food for them both but then not do anything but toss a couple extra coppers her way. It didn’t matter what kind of game the Church or those people who kidnapped Flayn was playing, because Abyss would lose either way. Yuri had chosen exile over execution all those years ago, not knowing that he had chosen to be thrown in the metaphorical basement and slowly forgotten. As was everybody else here, the outcasts of Fodlan for one reason or another.

Icarus made their way back onto his shoulder, feathers still shining blue despite it all. He was the leader of Abyss now, inasmuch as Abyss _had_ a leader. He needed to keep his people safe, as much as he possibly could. 

* * *

Times like these, Manuela really wished she had been a student at the academy, swept up in the peaceful days before entering noble life.

“What peaceful days?” Puccini whispered as she sipped her...punch. “It’s been one thing after another this year. Honestly I’m just glad the kids are getting something relaxing and fun.”

Okay, fine, then Manuela really wished she had been able to enjoy the ball as a student, swept up in the dancing and romance and dalliances. But nooooo, here she was having to play chaperone and keep the students from being too touchy-feely with each other. Why couldn’t _she_ have someone to be all touchy-feely with to aggravate Seteth? Instead she was watching him step in between Dorothea and Petra, or Edelgard and Dimitri, admonishing them to “leave room for the Goddess.” Edelgard and Dimitri weren’t even _courting!_ And they had to leave space anyway for Delcabia’s awkward steps (the sight of a boar in the ballroom was almost too much). And like hell was she going to let him bother Dorothea, still clad in her dancer’s outfit as Petra led her through the steps of a Brigidian dance. Calphour and Ardior flew above them in long swoops, darting in and out of the space between couples.

Puccini leaned forward, a fond look on his face. “Remember when we were first teaching Dorothea how to project her voice in the same direction while dancing?”

“How could I ever forget?” Dorothea had looked up to her with so much hero-worship back then, even though she was...well, Manuela. She could still remember how Calphour loved to be a lemur just like Puccini, how disappointed he briefly was when he settled as a goldcrest instead. And now here Dorothea was, all grown up, the Mystical Songstress following in her footsteps all the way to the Officer’s Academy. Manuela couldn’t be prouder of her little songbird, showing everyone here just what commoners could do. Was this what being a parent felt like, when they saw their children grow up and leave the nest? 

Manuela leaned back against the table full of tiny tarts surrounding a carved roast, and watched with mild amusement as Seteth exhausted himself trying to get a bunch of horny teenagers going through an incredibly stressful year to “maintain propriety” or whatever puritan definition of the term Seteth was working with. Come on, it’s not like the kids were feeling each other up on the middle of the dance floor; let them live a little!

“Hang on, is that...no way.” Puccini tapped their side of her face, frantically pointing in the direction of…

No way. Manuela could easily recognize Ferdinand, who attended weekend choir practice religiously and had a surprisingly smooth baritone for someone who never had any formal training. And he was dancing with...small. Purple hair. Hedgehog daemon. Though she’d never spoken with Ferdinand’s girlfriend, only ever saw her in rapid passing, this had to be the famously skittish Bernadetta. 

Bernadetta almost never left her room, but here she was at the annual ball, dancing with Ferdinand. He led her steps, held her close with her head against his chest to block off the view of other people. Bernadetta, for her part, leaned into Ferdinand’s bulky form. As Manuela watched, Embrienne landed on Malecki’s head, and the hedgehog daemon’s quills relaxed against his body. 

_“Are you KIDDING me?!” _Puccini flailed on Manuela’s shoulder so hard that she feared he would fly off_. “Berna-freaking-detta has a steady boyfriend, but WE can’t get past a second date?! Ugh, we’re gonna be single our entire lives, aren’t we.”_

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t happy for Bernadetta and Ferdinand—truly, she was! But Manuela also couldn’t help but feel a flare of jealousy flicker through her. Ugh, why couldn’t she have a second date? Or at least a one-night stand? She couldn’t even remember the last time she got laid! Forget marriage; at this point Manuela would settle for a half-decent dicking! 

Still, the two were definitely not “leaving room for the goddess,” and if Seteth called attention to that fact he’d probably send Bernadetta into a panic attack and completely ruin the whole idea of a nice relaxing and fun ball to distract students from the shittiest school year ever. 

Goddess, Manuela wished she had her flask with her right now. One needed a refreshing beverage when dealing with Seteth, who had a metal rod shoved so far up his ass she was surprised he didn’t attract lightning. Well, at least she could ensure that the students had a good time; it was too late for her. “Hey Seteth, had enough fun getting between the kids yet?”

“I—I beg your pardon, Manuela!” She could see the shape of his bearded dragon daemon scuttling to maintain her balance inside her sleeve. Goddess, but it was entertaining to needle Seteth and make his control slip. “Our students must maintain proper decorum as is befitting of our reputation and their place in society. I am simply reminding them of this.”

“Proper decorum, blah blah blah, this year has gone completely pear-shaped, let them live a little!” She took Seteth by the hand—the one whose sleeve wasn’t holding his daemon—and led him out to the dance floor. “You ought to live a little too! Or at least relax a bit. You’ve had a rough time of things too.”

“I…very well.” He placed a callused hand on Manuela’s shoulder (Puccini scampered to the floor to give them some space), and they joined their students on the ballroom floor. 

“This is a really old dance,” Manuela said as she let him lead the way. It felt like one he had learned a long time ago. She herself barely remembered the name, only that it was in style quite a long time ago. “Where did you learn it?”

She watched as Seteth’s face went soft and distant. “My wife taught me, a long time ago.”

Wait, what? “You’re _married?”_

_“I have so many questions.”_

He was married?! Who was his wife, and why had nobody in the monastery ever met her? And a long time ago? Just how old was Seteth? There wasn’t a single gray hair in sight, and it would definitely show up against the gray! Lucky bastard. She’d had her first gray hair almost a whole year ago, and yet they still made her teach that day. Couldn’t the academy tell she was mourning her youth?

“I was married,” Seteth said, eventually. He was still distant and soft. “She passed away a long time ago, along with my son.”

Oh. Oh, what kind of self-centered asshole was she, to harp on and on about herself when Seteth had lost both his wife and son?! “Seteth, I am so, so sorry.”

“It...it is not something I talk about much. That was a very painful time of my life. But thank you.” They danced for a while longer, a respectful distance, but still close enough for Manuela to drink in the deep green of his hair, such a rare and striking color. The equal green of his eyes, shimmering with welling tears. His voice cracked as he said, “And thank you, for trying to save Flayn. She is the only family I have left. Without her, I don’t know what I would do.”

“Seteth, it was Byleth and her students who saved Flayn. I just got stabbed.” It was completely humiliating. She wasn’t able to do anything against the Death Knight; Puccini was barely able to tell Byleth which way he had gone before passing out. All she had to show for it was an ugly red scar across her chest. Her beautiful skin, ruined! 

“You took a knife for Flayn, and even if you couldn’t finish the job I saw how you tracked Jeritza down, and pointed Byleth and her students in the right direction. I saw how you sang for her when both of you were recovering.” Flayn had so greatly enjoyed her arias, and Puccini’s censored tales of the brighter side of the Mittelfrank Opera Company. In some ways, it had almost felt like raising Dorothea again. “Manuela, I truly cannot thank you enough for what you have done, and what you tried to do.”

Was Seteth...crying? His voice had gone husky in a way he had only heard when Flayn woke up. “You’re welcome, Seteth. You know, you’re really stuffy and uptight, but you’re not that bad a guy. You just need to lighten up, let the kids live a little. We’re already sending them into battle.” 

Another beat of the dance. Seteth was good at this. “But what happens when they make poor choices and end up hurting others; or—“

Manuela placed a finger to his lips, just to shut him up, and see the flush crawl across his face. She needed to do this more often; it was so entertaining to make Seteth flustered. “Seteth, we’re teachers, not nannies. Our students will soon enter noble life and make policy divisions on their own that will affect all of us. How can you trust them to do that if you can’t even trust them to keep it in their pants?” 

Seteth frowned. “Jeralt said much the same thing, and that is true, but...Forgive me. This is not the proper time for such discussions.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and laugh even more at his furrowed brow. “Oh Seteth, we simply must meet up for tea later and have a good talk.” 

Puccini flicked his ears to where Ferdinand and Bernadetta had been. There was a flash of purple as she fled the ballroom, and a warm smile on Ferdinand’s face as he made his way to the center of the floor and offered his hand to anyone who wished. Manuela kept dancing with Seteth. At the very least, it was quite entertaining seeing him all flustered like this. And he really wasn’t as bad as his stuffy exterior would suggest. She rather liked a guy who could be so stern and proper, yet so good-hearted and amusing. 

* * *

In the frozen tundra far to the north, gyrfalcons were the undisputed lords of the air. None could touch them, none could catch them. 

Edelgard hated being too far away from her dear Avarine. Even though they could no longer feel the pain of separation, it was too painful a reminder of what was done to them and their family and so many others. She envied Byleth, a little, for having no such compunctions. And yet, seeing Avarine soar beyond the highest spire of the goddess tower, take to the chilled winter air her shape was born for in a way she never could have otherwise...was it okay, for her to find beauty out of such damage and trauma? 

Two sets of footsteps startled Edelgard out of her thoughts. Avarine dove into a blisteringly-fast stoop, only pulling up at the last minute to landon her shoulder instead of slamming into her back. All of which was unnecessary, because the footsteps belonged to Professor Byleth and Belial. “Oh, Professor Byleth. Were you coming here for someone?” Had she heard about the legend of the Goddess Tower? It was a surprise that nobody else was here; from what Edelgard had heard she assumed there would be multiple couples engaged in trysts on the way up here. But perhaps people were in less notorious locations, or still at the dance. Edelgard had come up here because she figured that Monica wouldn’t...and also because Hubert was afraid of heights. 

Avarine hopped down to Belial’s shoulders and, completely disregarding the flush on Edelgard’s face, started preening their fur. Professor Byleth remained as stoic as ever, but Belial thumped their tail against the ground. “Not in particular, but I’m pleased to see you here. We haven’t had too much of a chance to talk lately; I haven’t even seen you at office hours.”

That was all because of Monica. Every time she tried to speak to Professor Byleth, or Hubert, or _anybody_ for more than a few minutes, Monica manifested out of nowhere, a silent warning that those monsters in the dark were always watching and listening from the shadows. That she had nobody else to turn to in order to take down the church. 

Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had Hubert, and now Dorothea and Petra. But would that be enough? Monica was doing her best to drive a wedge between Edelgard and Professor Byleth...no, between Edelgard and everyone. If not for her, would she have told her teacher already? She very well might have, or at least dropped more blatant hints that even her Professor might have picked up on. Perhaps she could have even gotten through to Sylvain, educated Claude, or even recruited Lysithea outright. But no, there was nothing to be done about it now. Dwelling would only get her stuck; she had to go to war with the resources she had. 

Professor Byleth tilted her head; she’d gone silent longer than she intended. “Has something happened? Is everything okay?”

Things are not fine, Edelgard wanted to scream. There was nobody here on this tower, nobody she could see anyway. She wanted so badly to confess her crimes, beg Professor Byleth to join her and help throw off Fodlan’s shackles, console her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, that it would all be worth it (it had to be. There was no other option left but force. Rhea had taught them well with Lonato.). Tell her about the monsters in the dark shadowing her even now, binding her tongue and forcing her into silence, who did something to Hubert and Thanily that they couldn’t talk about. Would her teacher understand? What would she do? 

But what if Monica was listening? And this fear of that disappointing her teacher...Flames, she had it bad. So instead Edelgard asked, “Have you heard about the rumors of the Goddess Tower?”

Professor Byleth nodded. “Something about two people on the tower making a wish, right? People talked about it like it was romantic…”

Well, yes, it was explicitly romantic...and a bit more than romantic, for those brave and skilled enough to pick the locks and actually sneak inside. “This place, the Goddess Tower... It was special to my parents. My father attended the Officers Academy himself. A few years after graduating, he was crowned emperor. One day, during a visit to the monastery, he snuck into the Goddess Tower on a nostalgic whim. And there she was, my mother. She had just enrolled in the academy that very year. They were instantly drawn to each other. Love at first sight, you could say. It was the first time either had truly been in love... or so the story goes.”_ Do you get it? Can you hear what I’m hinting at?_

But she couldn’t. Professor Byleth was never good at getting hints. “Their first love?”

Edelgard leaned a little closer, ostensibly seeking out warmth against the cold night air. “Yes. Of course, as emperor, my father had already married for political reasons. As the Empire demands many heirs, he also had numerous other lovers. In the end, my mother settled for becoming one of his many consorts. But I choose to believe there was genuine love between them. Heh, I suppose it's a silly story to cling to.” In the end she was just a legitimized bastard, heir to the throne because there was nobody else left but her. She had to do this because nobody else could, nobody else would. 

“I think it’s a lovely story.” Her teacher's smile was faint, but it might as well have illuminated the night sky. “It reminds me a bit of a bedtime story my father told me, when I was young.”

“Isn't it? It's a shame that the lovely stories ended after I was born. For as long as I can remember, my mother had already been exiled from the capital.” And she couldn’t even remember if she had met her mother during her time in Fhirdiad. That entire section of her life was shrouded off for her own sanity, left so she could only remember the silhouettes of things. “It's strange. Something about you makes me reveal all of the things I so carefully keep concealed.”

_“But not enough!” _Avarine cried out, echoing in both their heads_. “Tell her, please!” _

And what would Monica and Thales do in retaliation? Not just to Edelgard or Hubert, but to her teacher? It was too soon. She couldn’t act just yet. And at the very least she could keep her teacher safe from whatever they were planning. Edelgard hated chess, but let this piece remain on the board for now; she wasn’t ready to sacrifice it yet. 

“Anyway,” Edelgard continued, glaring at Avarine (still perched on Belial’s head), “What about you? It's your turn to reveal some long-held secret! You can share a story about your past...or perhaps tell me about your first love?”

Professor Byleth’s gaze slid past her out to the monastery, and the lights of the town beyond the walls. “I...have no such stories. I’m sorry.” She looked to Belial, then for some reason winced and clapped her ear? 

“You're telling the truth. I can tell. Hm... I wasn't even able to make you blush.” She didn’t even bother trying to explain away why it mattered so much anymore. She had a hopeless crush on her teacher and needed to quash it for the sake of her plan. But...she couldn’t. That little flower would likely wither and die in just a few months. Let it at least enjoy that brief time in the sun. What was the point of uprooting it early? 

“Sorry…”

And that was enough for Avarine to fly back to her shoulder, for Edelgard to say, “Professor, I’m the one who should apologize for prying. I...you know about my past, what I was forced to endure, and my vow to change the world so nobody else suffers under the yoke of corrupt nobles and their obsession with crests ever again. But...do you think I can do it? Will you still consider me your student, even after I am crowned?”

“Oh, Edelgard.” Her teacher pulled her into an embrace, and her, uh, her breasts were very large and very soft and very much pressed against her chest guh. They rose and fell with Byleth’s breath and Edelgard tried very hard to focus on her voice and not _that_, and _certainly_ not to strain to listen for a soothing heartbeat! “You are driven, and kind, and care so much about other people. You’re brilliant, especially at seeing the big picture. I’ve learned so much from you as much as I hope you’ve learned from me. I think you’ll be amazing.”

Would she still think that, even after she declared war and betrayed her teacher? Or would all that affection turn to hatred?

Monica would no doubt find her, so Edelgard leaned into Byleth’s embrace, Avarine flew back to Belial and nestled in their thick fur just a little while longer. Let her enjoy this for just a moment more, even if she couldn’t stay. 

* * *

Hubert cursed the Goddess Tower for being the centerpiece of so many flights of romantic fancy and cursed himself for his discomfort of high places. What could she possibly be doing up there? He told her not to open herself up too much, especially with Monica breathing down their necks. 

“Hubert,” Thanily whispered from deeper in the brush, “What if Monica tries to send a message to Lady Edelgard the way she did with us?

Flames, no, it was almost too horrible to contemplate. He would thrust Thanily into Monica’s hands a thousand times over if it meant sparing Lady Edelgard that same pain, even as Thanily whined and flattened herself against the ground at the thought. But that was highly unlikely to happen as long as Lady Edelgard avoided unnecessary risks; their causes were aligned for the moment. Monica was gleefully sadistic, but she was not completely deranged.

“And you don’t consider this an unnecessary risk? Hubert, we can’t completely monitor Lady Edelgard from down here and she knows that!” 

“Then we shall do what we must, no matter how unpleasant it may be.” Hubert sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face as he settled back into his hiding spot. Flames, but he was exhausted. He supposed it was fortunate that the ruins of Remire were abandoned after their mission; with nobody monitoring the area it was relatively easy for him to station his spies and troops in the burnt-out village with nobody the wiser. 

“If Dorothea and Petra maintain their promises of alliance, then not only do we have all of Brigid on our side to draw resources upon, but also a ready-made propaganda campaign. Dorothea’s fame and artistic ability will make her invaluable for spready imessages about the war effort and keeping up morale in a way that we cannot,” Thanily said, her ears pricked for people passing by. 

Hubert nodded. He, reluctantly, had to admit that Lady Edelgard was right to court Dorothea and Petra’s attention. Even if they did not know the full details (and would have no need to know until the time was right), their alliance was still invaluable. “It’s a shame that Monica infiltrated herself so thoroughly, and even more of a shame that we have so little time to enact our scheme. Actively spreading our message directly under the nose of the Church is immensely entertaining, to be sure, but it was also an unnecessary risk. Still, I do wish that we had had more time to let the reprehensible actions of the Church speak for themselves and, at the very least, sow discord and thoughts of dissent in the minds of the other students.” Lysithea would very well join their cause; her sheer magical power and knowledge of Those Who Slithered In The Dark would be useful assets indeed. He still did not know what Professor Byleth would do when Lady Edelgard made her stand, could not yet bring himself to hope that she would pick their side when their classmates split. Linhardt was a contemptibly lazy and passive pacifist who would likely stay out of the war entirely. Caspar was a pugilistic fool whose family had already pledged their support for Lady Edelgard’s cause; even if he sided against them it would not be terribly difficult to redirect his attention. 

And as for Ferdinand and Bernadetta…

Thanily’s ears swiveled towards the sound of cautious footsteps. “Do you hear that?”

Only one person, no sound of daemon footsteps, so unlikely to be a couple sneaking off for an illicit tryst. Hubert stepped out of the bushes, Thanily’s teeth bared in a snarl and dark magic flickering in his palm. “I would highly recommend that you vacate the premises immediately, unless you wish to suffer a rather unfortunate fate…”

“AAAHHH!!! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you Bernie and Mal didn’t see or hear anything I promise not to tell Seteth—”

The magic vanished with a snap of his fingers. “Bernadetta, it’s me—”

She stumbled back, her hands clapped over her eyes as Malecki did the same thing curled up in her evening satchel. “I’m sorryimsorryimsorry I’m not looking keep doing what you’re—yah! Ow!” Hubert rolled his eyes, while Thanily visibly winced. Predictably, since Bernadetta had her eyes covered, she stumbled backwards and tripped over a large root.

Hubert sighed and leaned down, extending a gloved hand. “Now that you’ve seen the merits of keeping your eyes open, do you need some help getting up?”

“I...Oh, it’s you Hubert. I’m sorry, that was pretty stupid of me…” Bernadetta reached up and let Hubert help her to her feet. Her dress was quite pretty actually, a soft gray that mirrored her eyes. 

“It’s okay. Like I said, I meant to be frightening.” He chuckled darkly, and noted how Bernadetta trembled, but this time stood her ground. “I’m surprised you’re out here during the ball anyway. I thought you would take refuge in your room.”

“I did! I mean, I wanted to, but Ferdie loves to dance, and he said he wanted to dance with me, and, I mean, it is proper for a courting couple to dance together…”

“Ah, of course. It is so typical for the peacocks to strut and show off their mates. How disgustingly shallow the so-called ‘high society’ is.”

Bernadetta shook her head. “We made a deal. I’d do one dance with him, then I’d go back to my room and he’d dance with other people. He offered to escort me back but I said that he should enjoy himself since he loves dancing so much, I could get back to my room, it’s not that far and I won’t get lost and it’s a nice quiet night and oh no I’m babbling I’m sorry Hubert!”

Huh. Though perhaps he should not be so surprised; Ferdinand was surprisingly considerate where Bernadetta was involved. It had been a...pleasant discovery. “It’s not a problem. I can leave, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I...I’m fine, actually. The dance was terrifying but once we got into it he showed me all the steps and I was so caught up in that I nearly forgot about everyone else and, really, it wasn’t that bad.”

Malecki poked his little head out from the lavender bag. “I didn’t see you at the ball. I thought you’d be there even just to watch over Edelgard.”

He had considered that, but in the end the prospect of a nearly-empty monastery was just too good to pass up. He had gotten more preparations set up over the past few hours than he had all week, just from not being interrupted and having to look innocent every few minutes. Of course he wasn’t about to actually say that, so instead Hubert just said, “I don’t dance.”

“Really?” Bernadetta craned up her neck to gaze at him, Her eyes were, how could she ever call them flat and colorless? They were like the sea in a story, ready to batter ships into submission and so much driftwood. “But weren’t you taught to dance?”

“I said that I _don’t_ dance, not that I _can’t_ dance.”

“Oh…” Bernadetta dropped her hand,and for a moment Hubert felt strangely adrift, like he had said something wrong.

Malecki leaned a little further out of the bag. “Do you, um, want to dance?”

“Mal?!”

His prickles went up, but he forged onward nonetheless. Hubert and Thanily said nothing, so as not to break the spell. “I mean, it was scary, but not as scary as I was afraid it would be? And there’s nobody else around so maybe it won’t be that bad? Of course, only if you want to, I mean—”

Malecki stopped talking, and Bernadetta turned bright pink, because Hubert had taken her by the hand and bowed in what would be a mockery of an apology to anybody else but, for some reason, was genuine when it came to Bernadetta. The music was loud, and filtered through the door, faint but there. “I believe Icould spare you a brief dance, if I am not too frightening to you.” 

“I…” She swallowed. “S-sure! I’ve got to try harder anyway! And you’re not that, I mean, aaggh shut up Bernie!”

It was a simple waltz, or at least it would have been, Hubert did this dance countless times, and though he was admittedly not as practiced as Ferdinand or other nobles he was certainly competent in it. Thanily, too, was more than able to keep the beat. So then why did the warmth of Bernadetta’s hand occupy his mind so? And when he wrapped his arm around her waist as the dance instructed, the contact burned even through multiple layers of fabric in a way that it had never done before.

Hubert shook away the thoughts clouding his head. Aftereffects of Monica’s assault, surely. Nothing more, and certainly nothing important. 

The music filtering outside was faint, but it was just enough to keep a beat to. She didn’t tuck her myself close to him, didn’t hold her head against his chest, but she did lean against his lanky arm against her back as if she drew strength from it. Thanily moved with him even though Malecki would not join in. 

“I’m surprised you know how to dance,” Hubert said. Bernadetta was clumsy, to be sure, moving along by her natural grace and dexterity more than anything else, but she had clearly received some sort of formal training. “I find it rather difficult to imagine you on a ballroom floor.”

“My...my father made me learn. He said that a proper lady should know how to dance. I mostly remember how much the shoes hurt…”

Oh, her father was going to _pay_. How would he do the deed? Poison? No, he wanted to see the look of terror in her father’s eyes as he realized that he would die. That was blood he would gladly spill. Or perhaps let him slowly rot away forgotten in a filthy cell, nobody to talk to but his daemon until he forgot his own name. “Your father is a miserable worm whose only contribution to the world was conceiving you.”

Another turn in the dance. Bernadetta accidentally trod her foot on his, but Hubert said nothing. “My father didn’t even name me; it was my mother. Bernadetta means ‘brave bear,’ did you know that? I mean of course you did you’re Hubert you know everything…”

_I wish I did know everything; then I would know how to eliminate Monica and Those Who Slither In The Dark, how to demolish the church without their power._ “I think it is a rather appropriate name. You needed to be brave to survive in such a hostile environment, not to mention improve yourself the way you have here. True, you may not be as fearless as Lady Edelgard, but you are not the Imperial princess. You have more than enough bravery for your needs.”

“Really?”

“I take pride in my ability to objectively analyze another’s character, regardless of my personal feelings. You are remarkably strong-willed, to have made it all the way here. And, though it galls me to say it, Ferdinand’s influence has been...beneficial to you.”

“Oh...Th-thank you, Hubert. You know, you don’t need to be super scary all the time!”

He chuckled, even through her suppressed squeak. “I shall try to emember that.”

Malecki continued to hum the basic melody of the waltz, even after the ballroom faded away. 

It was easy to tell Bernadetta’s room apart; someone had placed a cheery nameplate on it and she never bothered to take it down. “Well Bernadetta, I believe this is where I must leave you. It was my pleasure to escort you back home.”

“Uh, thanks. Really! It was nice of you, you didn’t have to do that but I’m grateful regardless.” Bernadetta scratched the back of her neck, refusing to look in his direction. Malecki, too, had curled up back in the pouch. “Ummmm, Hubert? This was nice but Ferdinand said that he’d, uh, see me after the ball? And I know you don’t like him much so, uh,”

Oh, of course. It made perfect sense, and would be beneficial for him as well. It would be much easier to work on some of his...noisier jobs if Ferdinand spent the night in Bernadetta’s room. And it was extremely useful to know how deep their courtship ran. 

Hubert swallowed back the sudden urge to run his hand through her hair, washed clean and layered with some of Dorothea’s products so it bounced and curled into soft ringlets, and suppressed the sudden desire to kiss her hand. Instead, he and Thanily bowed deep, deep enough that she couldn’t see his eyes under his dark hair, and said, “In that case, I hope you have a lovely evening.”

“You too, Hubert.” And she closed the door. Hubert found himself standing before it, his skin still prickling like he had spent too much time in the summer sun. 

“Hubert, what was that?” Thanily asked. 

He stared at Bernadetta’s door, resolutely ignored his traitorous hand and the even more traitorous images swimming through the back of his mind. “Nothing important.”

What was important was solidifying Lady Edelgard’s path to the throne. Because once she became Emperor and disposed of that bloviating sack of lard calling himself the Prime Minister, there was no way that Ferdinand von Aegir, as he loved to so arrogantly remind everyone in earshot at any available opportunity, would ever join Her Highness’s cause. And if Ferdinand were to align himself against Lady Edelgard, then Bernadetta would likely do the same. 

“Even if we disposed of her father?” Thanily’s ears went flat against her head. 

He had to assume that; it would be too dangerous to do otherwise. Perhaps that could be a point of negotiation. Ferdinand would be a vexing and possibly dangerous foe; if he could persuade him and Bernadetta to a life in exile—perhaps Albenia, or Morfis? Well, Bernadetta might be able to convince Ferdinand to see reason (a difficult task, to be sure, but one he had growing confidence in her ability to manage), then they would live. Even if he would never see them again. Which would make things immeasurably easier. 

Hubert and Thanily returned to his room and his plans, before he could begin to fully unpack why that thought left such a pang in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and enjoying! And yes, Abyss WILL make an appearance, and play a small but important role. And in case you haven’t guessed by now I have very strong feelings about Abyss. Expect it to be played straight and thoroughly deconstructed here.
> 
> Also expect an NSFW “bonus scene” side story some time in the next few days.
> 
> And, as before, here’s the lineup of the Ashen Wolves’ daemons!
> 
> Yuri and Icarus, non-binary blue jay (mockingbird was close, and I really really want to make mockingjay jokes here)
> 
> Constance and Rubine, male peacock (I mean, _come on_)
> 
> Balthus and Drusionary, female mountain goat (fun fact: this was a finalist for Peakane’s form!)
> 
> Hapi and Malka Foss, male cape pangolin 
> 
> Gatekeeper: Female zebra daemon
> 
> Thank you all for reading, please leave a comment/kudos/whatever if you feel up to it, and if you want to donate please let me know! Stay safe out there; 2020 isn’t even half done. We all need to stick together and look out for each other, and do our part. We can’t undo the damage that’s already been done but we can learn from it, grow from it, and make a better future.


	20. Breathe, And Let The Human In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots from the Ethereal Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient. Yesterday was my birthday and I have officially started my new job with Better Hours and Actual Pay, so here's the update! I hope you all enjoy and the wild ride will _really_ kick back into gear soon. I've been revising the outline for the next few chapters; there's about 5-6 left until we hit the timeskip. In the meantime, please read and enjoy!
> 
> Content warning: Brief mention of non-consensual daemon touching.

For once, Byleth was thankful that she never expressed her emotions. It made it relatively easy to follow Sothis’s hissed commands—she was certainly doing a better job than Sothis herself.

_ “Don’t smile. Don’t even blink. Do not say something we might regret!” _ she had hissed into Byleth’s metaphorical ear, yet she was the one flitting back and forth in her head.

Byleth had never heard the name of the goddess. It was a soft taboo to start with, and Jeralt had raised her to be as ignorant of the church as someone in Fodlan could get. But the goddess’s name was Sothis, as was the name of the girl in her head. 

Byleth and Belial looked up at the enormous stained-glass image of the goddess in the cathedral, where her feet had taken her. Clad in purest white, flanked by her draconic heralds, the goddess—Sothis—gazed down in benediction at her worshippers, hands open to receive the prayers that were offered up to her. 

_ “I’m not the goddess! I can’t be the goddess! The goddess is everywhere, looking down on us from the Blue Sea Star or whatever, not in your head! And if I were the goddess, wouldn’t I hear their prayers and pleas? Or be able to do something about them? But I haven’t heard any of their prayers at all.” _

But even without her strange bond with Belial, even without the no heartbeat thing (which was a very large “even without”) nobody else had a pointy-eared green-haired girl in their head who could pet Belial without issue, who offered smart-ass commentary and advice. Nobody else had endless dreams of battle or places they had never been, if they ever dreamt at all. And nobody else could turn back time. 

_ “But I cannot be the goddess, for if I am then what does that say about you, or the entire faith of Fodlan? I...what am I? And what are you?” _

Byleth didn’t know how to answer that. Behind her, Belial let out a low whine. 

_ “I mean, no offense, but there isn’t much special about you!” _

What about her emotionlessness? Or her ability to separate from Belial? Or the fact that she breathed and bled and lived but had no heartbeat?

_ “Well, okay, but...what if those things are because of me? I’ve always been with you, but it’s not like I chose to be. From my perspective, I woke up one day, and there I was, along for the ride inside your head.” _

Byleth scratched Belial’s ears as they stared up at the stained-glass image of the goddess. Around them, worshippers filtered in, praying for wealth and love and glory. She heard their prayers, but only the ones spoken out loud. 

_ “What am I? And did I do something to you, merely by my presence?” _

The goddess looked down, her smile beatific, and said nothing. 

* * *

The enormous beast, a wolf whose form was twisted and warped by a residual pocket of magic pooling somewhere deep in the forest, snarled and snapped at Belial. They yelped in pain as the giant wolf tore at their tail fur, kicked out and scratched the beast’s face. Byleth scrabbled through the rubble, trying to find enough space to get to her feet and safely swing her blade. 

_ “This was a terrible idea!” _

“This was your idea!” Belial shouted through a mouthful of fur as they bit at the much larger beast. 

It had been Sothis’s idea to go back to Zanado, and Byleth had agreed. The Red Canyon was a holy site to the Church of Seiros, supposedly a place where the goddess had once given a message to the people. Or something. Now it was a sacred location, where nobody was allowed to go, though only rubble remained. Technically, Byleth wasn’t supposed to be there either, but Rhea seemed to like and trust her a lot for some reason, so she would probably be forgiven. Because while the Red Canyon was a sacred location, it was also a place that triggered some faint nostalgia, or deja vu, in both Byleth, Belial, and Sothis. A shiver of recognition, even though Byleth had never heard of Zanado before in her life, that stuck to her back like rain. And what was even more eerie was the architecture. Edelgard was right; it was like nothing else on Fodlan, and though her memories were hazy and piecemeal Byleth had traveled all over the continent with her father and their mercenary troupe. She had never seen anything like the remaining structures on display here. 

_ “But I once called this place home,” _ Sothis said as Byleth brushed away the rubble, revealing tan stone and chunks of broken mosaic set in a pattern long since lost.  _ “How is that possible?” _

“I don’t know,” Belial said, sniffing some old bones. “What if you really are a ghost?”

_ “How dare you? I gave you the ability to turn back time! How could my existence be so meaningless? I—no. There! Behind that wall,”  _ Sothis pivoted, trying to change the subject,  _ “I remember something once there. A temple, perhaps?” _

The wall was crumbling, held up more by the roots of trees jutting out the top of the admittedly tall wall than anything else. There were...things...carved into the stone, their angles too sharp to be natural, but they had been weathered away by centuries of neglect. The cathedral was a holy site and Byleth always saw monks and custodians cleaning every corner, sometimes even saw Cyril on the back of a young wyvern scrubbing the  _ ceiling _ clean, his bat daemon showing them all the little spots where dust and smoke from burning incense collected. 

Birds nested in this holy place, and centipedes crawled out from under upturned stones. Belial dug under the wall, sending sand and pebbles flying everywhere as they tunneled through to the other side. 

_ “I mean, the cathedral was completely packed with pilgrims during the Rite of Rebirth, and the Archbishop wasn’t even there! She was in a tower or something, wasn’t she? Though, come to think of it, weren’t Seteth and Flayn with her? Seteth I can make sense of, but why Flayn?  _

Flayn was a pleasure to have in class, polite and eager and just happy to be with her classmates. She had a particular talent for magic which she was delighted to show off to Seteth, usually alongside reminders that she never would have learned these new spells without joining Byleth’s class. She had particularly latched onto Dorothea, who was more than happy to teach the younger Flayn some of the songs and dances that she had learned in the opera.

Or at least, Byleth presumed Flayn was younger. Petra was the youngest member of the Black Eagle House, only a few months older than Lysithea, yet she held herself with incredible maturity and poise. She’d had to grow up so fast as a “guest” of the empire, so keenly aware of how much responsibility she carried even at the age of nine. Only occasionally did Petra do something like let her frustration bubble over, or sprawl out when she believed nobody was looking, or have Ardior gossip with other daemons, and let slip the fact that she was only sixteen. Flayn, however, was sort of the inverse. She was naive, playful, almost endearingly childlike, her silent daemon still unsettled. And yet there was a quiet wisdom and determination to her, what her father would call an, “old soul.” If Petra sometimes revealed how young she was, then Flayn sometimes behaved much older and more mature than she seemed. 

But none of that explained why Flayn was in the Goddess Tower during the Rite of Rebirth. And before Byleth had the chance to think about it more, a terrible scream rent the air. 

_ “ _ BYLETH!” Belial shouted, over a deep snarl close by. Then, the scrabbling of paws against dirt, more growls and snarls, and the sound of teeth clashing against each other. Then, sudden dull pain ripping through her, referred through Belial across whatever stunted connection they had. Byleth pulled herself under the tunnel that Belial dug and found herself in a small...what was once a room, still bound by old stones laid in a semi-circular pattern. Too close to swing her blade, and yet she needed to, as Belial was furiously fighting for their life with a giant wolf, its form twisted and warped by magic. 

Barking, snarling, fur against fang, blood spattering floor and Belial’s fur torn off in places. Byleth cried out again from a particularly nasty bite—still not enough room to help fight! 

_ “Belial can’t fight this king of beasts alone! Are you actually going to get us killed by an oversized wolf in the middle of a bunch of ruins?!” _

Byleth closed her eyes and reached for the divine pulse. How far back would she have to turn time to avoid disturbing the beast? Only one way to find out—

The shriek of a falcon, an overhead cry of, “Hubert, here!”

Belial rolled off of the giant wolf, took cover just as a long-range blast of dark magic exploded over the beast’s form. The wolf yelped in pain, its fur sizzling. As it clawed at its face, Byleth and Belial both scrabbled back out under the wall, panting for breath with chunks of the wolf daemon’s fur torn off. 

Edelgard and Hubert raced up the hill, Avarine landing back on her outstretched fist just as her other students crested the hill and engaged with a...a demonic beast?!

“We’ll talk later, my teacher! For now, we’ll help!

Byleth alone struggled against the wolf. But with Edelgard and Hubert by her side, it didn’t stand a chance. The demonic beast gave her other students more trouble, but there was only one of them, and Belial to help and shout orders. 

Oddly enough, the demonic beast did not transform back into a person like the thing that had once been Miklan did. Instead it remained that warped beast with the poisonous breath. It looked...small and sad, in death. 

“My teacher. Dare I even ask what you were doing here?”

What was she supposed to say to that? Thankfully Bernadetta’s timid approach meant she didn’t have to answer. “Um...Edelgard? Professor? We’re not gonna get in trouble for being here, are we? I don’t want the Archbishop to punish us!”

No. That would  _ never _ happen, not on her watch. Another flash of anger, seeing Bernadetta regress to fear at the thought of transgressing against the Archbishop. Anger that Edelgard and Hubert both seemed to share, judging by the glint in Avarine’s eyes, the curling of Thanily’s lip. But what could she say if asked directly?

Hubert rubbed his chin in thought, and ah yes he was the one who came up with the suggestions on how to phrase the club meeting reports to Archbishop Rhea as well. “Hmmm. Perhaps we could pass it off as a training exercise? Would you find that suitable, Professor?” 

She nodded, and Bernadetta sagged in relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“Still,” Edelgard added, “We should probably get back before anybody asks too many questions.”

There was one more thing that Byleth needed to do. She hung back, lingered around the corpse of the demonic beast. It looked...kind of familiar, in a way that she couldn’t quite place.

_ “I feel as if I’ve seen a creature like this before. But...I’m sorry. My memories are still too hazy. But what is that, inside the creature’s thorax?” _

The beast’s chest and abdomen were split open by spell and blade alike, its organs spilling out onto the cold canyon floor. And in the middle of the slop...A crest stone?

Byleth didn’t know much of anything about anatomy. Maybe whatever this creature once was ate a crest stone? The sigil on it looked scratched, almost weathered away. She reached out for a closer look— 

_ “Don’t touch it!” _

Byleth yanked her hand back as if burned; Belial yelped and dropped to the floor. What was that about?

_ “I’m sorry, but just...Don’t touch it. You really, really shouldn’t touch that. Belial can, but not you. It’s...I don’t know why, but it feels wrong.” _

She didn’t get it, but Sothis was absolutely adamant on the point. In the end, Belial buried the crest stone in a patch of softer earth, placed some stones from the ruined temple on it to mark the spot. It seemed like the right thing to do. 

* * *

“Professor Byleth? You wanted to speak to me?” 

Monica was as chipper as ever, rolling her pen back and forth between her fingers as she fidgeted in front of the desk. Her cuckoo daemon was equally restless, flitting back and forth from her shoulder to the perch on which Avarine usually rested to her shoulder again. 

Byleth reached for a stack of essays. “I wanted to talk about your last paper on ambush tactics.”

“Oh yeah! That was a fun one,” she giggled. “Gotta say, I really had to think outside the box for some of your prompts.”

_ “Yeah, I have questions about your box,” _ Sothis muttered in Byleth’s head. So did Byleth, which is why she asked for Monica to stay after class. 

“A lot of these tactics are...brutal,” Byleth explained. “Often unnecessarily so. I know that I spoke about efficiency in battle and ending fights quickly, and also spent a lot of time on what some members of the nobility deride as ‘fighting dirty,’ but a lot of your strategies would result in unnecessary collateral damage.”

Monica leaned over her essay, head cocked in curiosity as her daemon landed on the second page and did much the same thing, only even more exaggerated. “But you’re the Ashen Demon, right? So why are you so concerned about collateral damage?”

This was...odd. Monica was usually chipper, cheerful, optimistic, and yet here she was with a proposed ambush that Byleth would have expected to birthed from Hubert’s mind. But no, that wasn’t right either. Hubert has considered a similar strategy in his assignment, wrote it out in his usual meticulous detail. And then he rejected it outright due to that same brutality and disregard for allied casualties and injuries to innocent bystanders. Hubert was cold, callous even, but he did not revel in brutality. Much like Edelgard, he would not shy away from a violent solution if he believed it was the most efficient one.

_ “Yeah, there’s nothing efficient at all about this. Flashy, yes. Full of explosions, yes. Efficient, no.”  _ A feeling that Byleth now realized was concern bubbled up from Sothis, and mirrored in her as well. “Leaving aside the possibility of killing allies and innocents, if you were to use tactics like this on the battlefield and injured your allies, it would damage morale. It would also make it much harder to recruit allies to your side, much less keep them there.”

Monica studied her paper, or at least kept her eyes fixed on it, while her daemon carefully evaluated Byleth and Belial. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, Professor. I think I’ve been affected by what happened. I couldn’t help but think that if I had been a bit more flashy or over-the-top with things, maybe I wouldn’t have been captured. Or maybe I would have been able to escape sooner rather than having needed to be rescued.”

Oh. Belial reached forward for Monica’s daemon, but the cuckoo fluttered back to her shoulder. “Monica? I am terribly sorry that happened, but I’m glad you’re here and safe.”

“Thanks. I am too. It’s just, it’s a lot, you know?”

Byleth nodded. “You can always talk to me about these things. You don’t need to speak only to Edelgard.”

She had said something wrong, hadn’t she. At the very mention of Edelgard’s name, Monica’s head shot up, her daemon’s dark eyes fixed on Byleth’s. “Edel didn’t say something, did she?” 

“No ,she didn’t.” Byleth took a breath and plunged forward, even though Monica’s response was...not what she or Sothis had expected. And that cuckoo daemon’s gaze was still fixed on her. “But I have noticed that you've been talking almost exclusively to Edelgard and Hubert. I know that you’ve been struggling and have a lot to catch up on, but I think they need a little bit of space as well.”

“Hm, I guess you’re right.” There was another long moment of silence, during which Monica shared a silent conversation with her daemon, presumably communicating across their bond. Byleth leaned back and waited, idly scratching the thick fur around Belial’s neck. Monica jumped back into the conversation without any warning or preamble. “Okay, I can give them a bit of space! But seriously, Edel or Hubiekins didn’t say anything, did they? I’m not in trouble or anything, am I?”

“No, of course you’re not.” Why would she think that?

Monica visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank you! That’s such a relief to hear. Well, I’ll see you around Professor. Thanks for the advice!” She flounced off, leaving a bemused Byleth behind in the classroom.

_ “That was kinda weird, but I wish I could figure out exactly why. Ah, but there are so many mysteries right now.” _

* * *

There had been a few months, between the time of Belial’s settling and Byleth’s final growth spurt, where she had been able to ride on the back of Belial much as her father did with Domaghar. On the Good Days, she and her father would gallop through the fields, lope through the forests. Domaghar would lower her head, snort out an invitation to race, and Belial would huff and dig in their paws. She and Belial won every time, and now that Byleth thought about it, Domaghar would always pull up just before whatever they designated as the finish line. 

Byleth was too big now to safely ride on Belial’s back, so instead she and her father walked alongside their daemons as they took in the cold winter air. Byleth was quiet as usual, but this time it was because of Sothis. Honestly, she wouldn’t have minded if Sothis took control of her body for a little while back at the dance. She was tired, and drained, and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and the amount of social interaction. It was something that she just...couldn’t get. Couldn’t do. But Sothis, Byleth could feel the energy thrumming through her, could feel just how eager Sothis was to, as she put it, sing and dance until she fell to the ground. It wasn’t quite fair, that Sothis helped her out so much and yet she couldn’t even do this one thing. 

_ “No, it’s not fair. But I didn’t ask to be in your body either; I’m just along for the ride. I’m not going to violate your autonomy!” _

And Sothis wouldn’t budge on the issue, so that was that. 

“Hey, kid?” Jeralt’s soft voice snapped them both to attention. “You've been awfully quiet today. No dreams about the girl last night?”

Actually…”Dad? Can I ask you something?”

_ “What?!”  _ She felt Sothis flare up.  _ “I told you, we can’t tell anyone about this! Especially not in the monastery!” _

She wasn’t going to ask, at least not directly. Or at least, as indirectly as she was capable of being. “Dad?” Byleth asked, “Did you or mom ever sing this lullaby to me?”

Even on the Good Days, Byleth never sang. Not to herself, not to others, not in a duet with Belial like Dorothea and Calphour or Annette and Serrin always did. She never even hummed an idle tune to herself when cleaning her swords or clothes. So Byleth did not sing the lullaby so much as speak it. But that just made the words come out all the clearer.

“In time’s flow, see the glow of flames ever burning bright. On the swift river’s drift, broken memories alight…”

“Kid, where did you hear that song?” Behind him, Domaghar went still, ears pinned and tail lashing back and forth. 

“I heard Archbishop Rhea singing it. But it sounded familiar. Like I’ve heard it before.” Sothis had sung the song, had somehow  _ made _ the song, long and long ago. And as soon as those words left Sothis’s mouth, Byleth found herself hit with another vision, a flash of memory not her own. Not of an ancient battlefield, but of a woman singing a lullaby to a sleeping baby in her arms. A sleeping baby with light green hair and pointed ears. 

Belial scratched their ear. “Dad? Why did you take us from the monastery?”

It took a very long time for Jeralt to answer, so long that at first it seemed like he wouldn’t answer at all. But after several minutes of nervous glances, of Domaghar swiveling her ears and sniffing at the air for any eavesdroppers, Jeralt sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. “Kid, have you ever seen a baby?”

Byleth nodded. One of the cooks had had a baby a few months ago; she’d started bringing the child to work with her, in a basket far away from all the fire and knives. 

“And did they laugh? Did they cry? What did their daemon do?”

Byleth nodded again. The baby was either laughing, crying, or sound asleep. She’d laugh when Ashe dangled shiny lockpicks in front of her, cry when she was hungry or needed changing or the air was too thick with smoke and spice. Whenever she was awake her daemon was an inquisitive little thing, and when she was asleep she’d suck on her daemon’s tail like a pacifier. 

“You didn’t do any of these things. Even when you were born, you never laughed. Never cried.”

“And you were such a listless little thing, Belial,” Domaghar added. “I was terrified that if you left my sight for just a moment, a stiff wind would blow you away. It took months, maybe even years for you to start having Good Days.”

Sothis said nothing, and the emotions welling up were too much for Byleth to place, much less name. And her mother had just died too, which meant that her dad had to raise her, when she was like  _ that _ , all alone. That same  _ hurt-sad-bad _ twisty feeling surged inside Byleth again, just like when far too many of her students told her about their pasts. 

Jeralt continued, “Rhea said not to worry, but how could I not? I would have worried even if you were a perfectly healthy and ordinary baby, but you never made a sound at all. And I can’t even begin to tell you how terrifying it was, seeing Belial that listless. I think it was the fact that she was so...unconcerned that made me the most concerned. It was like she was telling me not to believe what I was seeing with my own eyes. After a days I—”

“Captain! There you are!”

The look on Domaghar’s face should have vaporized Alois on the spot. But the look of alarm on Alois’s face, the way he shoved Erikaf under his arm to run faster and not be held back by her slower speed, made Jeralt’s face soften from the frustration at being interrupted, especially at such a bad time. “Alois, what’s going on?”

“There’s a disused chapel on the edge of the Monastery which was boarded up and falling apart. And we started seeing demonic beasts coming out of it! Professor, the Lions and Deer are out on their own missions; get your students and hurry!”

“We’ll be right there. Fuck! Sorry kid, we’ll have to talk about this later. There’s no time now, there’s never any damn time. Get your brats and meet me at the chapel.”

He saddled up on Domaghar and galloped away, while Byleth and Belial took off in different directions. It was easy enough to ignore the startled gasps and disturbed looks as she and Belial raced through the monastery to collect their students, even though there were quite a few of them. Even though everyone knew about her ability to separate at this point, it was another thing entirely to see Byleth or Belial actually by themselves, with seemingly no ill effects. 

Within the hour, Byleth and Belial had rejoined, their slightly bewildered and more than slightly scared students trailing behind them as they made their way to the chapel. Which was...well…

The chapel had clearly been condemned for some time, held up more by the stone structure in the back than anything else. The front half, made of wood, was rotting and crumbling in, covered with moss and ice. 

And demonic beasts spilled out of that partially-collapsed entrance, thrashing and roaring in agony as they clawed at each other and attacked anything in sight. 

“What the fuck are these things doing here…” Jeralt turned to shout directions at Byleth and her students. “We can’t let these beasts get to the rest of the monastery!”

Alois stepped back, eyes wide, Erikaf trembling around his legs. “I’ll go get Catherine, Shamir, and the rest of the knights! You’ve got this, Captain!” He scooped up Erikaf again and ran off as quickly as his armor would let him. 

Byleth had just a few moments to observe the beasts before they charged. They looked...different from the thing that Miklan had turned into. Slimmer, with bloody wraps around their legs, and what looked like a piece of...of a crest stone jammed into their foreheads. They looked like they were in agony.

_ “And those were once people, weren’t they? Their last moments must have been horrifying. We need to stop them from hurting anyone else, and end their pain!” _

Her students were able to bring down one demonic beast with difficulty. There were six in front of them. Bernadetta clutched her bow before her like it was her lifeline. Linhardt was fully awake, already chanting the first half of a healing incantation. Edelgard and Hubert were silent, eyes wide, their daemons quiet and contemplative. 

Caspar charged in first, gauntlets tearing at the wraps to reveal what looked like...burnt skin, exposed muscle that glistened, twisted white tendon and an oozing clear fluid that ran over yellowed bone. Petra ran in after him, took advantage of the exposed wound to drive in her sword, straight through to the heart. 

There was a horrible scream, a long gush of dark red blood that soaked Petra and Caspar through and left even Caspar whimpering for just a moment, and then…

The person the demonic beast had once been was a boy who couldn’t have been older than Petra, or maybe even Cyril. Ardior flew down to the boy’s corpse, and that moment of distraction was enough for another, wounded demonic beast to slam into Petra from behind.

Teeth crunching into bone, an awful wet organic tearing noise, an inhuman shriek from Petra as her arm was torn off. And another cry of horror as her arm disappeared down the beast’s throat. 

Belial cried out, and Byleth reached within. A blink later, and it never happened. Byleth rushed forward, the Sword of the Creator glowing with shared protective instinct towards her students, and whipped the extendible blade across the second beast’s eyes, just seconds before it would have torn into Petra. Those moments were just enough for Petra to regain her bearings, for Caspar to dive in and cover her.

The rest of the fight was a similarly chaotic jumble, flashes of battles and deaths that never happened. Her students would dogpile one demonic beast, only to have one of them savaged by another who broke free of the fighting. She’d turn back time, scream for Linhardt to heal or Dorothea to cast her just-learned Meteor, have Belial leap onto a beast’s face or push herself to her limit, even direct her father to join the fray (and oh, the spark of pride

in her father’s face at that). 

But through it all, she saw her students die and die again. She saw Hubert savaged, Bernadetta torn apart. She saw a demonic beast pluck Calphour right out of the air, heard Dorothea scream once before it crunched down and she went limp. They died and lived, died and lived, and the strain of doing so many divine pulses in such a short time started to hurt, a deep ache inside as if she had run for miles without any water. It mixed unpleasantly with the memory of seeing her students maimed and killed, over and over, until Byleth fought with bile in the back of her throat.

Finally, finally, the last beast fell, transformed back into the broken body of an old woman dressed in rags. Byleth felt her jaw unclench, heard Belial flop to the ground in exhaustion. 

_ “Everyone’s okay, right? I don’t know if we can do another Pulse. Your body may not be able to handle the strain.” _

Edelgard, Hubert, Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Dorothea, Petra, Linhardt, Caspar. Everyone was alive. Scratched up and bleeding, Caspar sporting a broken arm that Linhardt had to temporarily splint by hand until they got back to the monastery because both he and Dorothea were completely drained of magic, but alive. Thank goodness. She was so exhausted, she didn’t even notice her father behind her until his hand clapped down on her shoulder.

“Kid, take a break, you earned it. I’ll check inside the chapel. You make sure your brats are okay.”

Byleth couldn’t do much more than nod and catch her breath. Behind her, Edelgard and Hubert collected the bodies of the poor souls transformed into demonic beasts, musing on their identities (not townies, not students or monks, so who were they?). Before her, Domachar held up the doorframe of the chapel with her massive head while her father crawled inside.

“There’s nothing here, just...What the? Stay there Domaghar, hang on.” There was some thumping, a muffled curse, and then her father came back out, covered in rubble. He dusted himself off and started talking as he made his way back to Byleth. “It looks like there’s a tunnel or something in the back, but the pathway is collapsed. We’ll need some help clearing the path—Domaghar?”

“Monica? What are you doing here?”

She’d left Monica at the monastery, didn’t want her anywhere near demonic beasts. Something was very wrong. But before Byleth could think further, Monica’s hand shot out— 

—And dug into Domaghar’s flank. 

Domaghar shrieked and fell to the ground. Her father, the Blade Breaker, crumpled like he was made of thin birch. 

That was all the time Monica needed to drive a knife into his back.

Byleth’s vision briefly went spotty and she did, in fact, vomit in her mouth as she turned back time, horror at what she had just seen blocking out everything else. Something deep within her, beyond just Sothis, cried out at the strain but horror and desperation pushed through.

There was some thumping, a muffled curse, and then her father came back out of the chapel, covered in rubble. He dusted himself off and started talking as he made his way back to Byleth. “It looks like there’s a tunnel or something in the back, but the pathway is collapsed. We’ll need some help clearing the path—Kid? You okay?”

Byleth wasn’t listening. The world swam, but that didn’t matter. Monica was—Monica was—She needed to stop her.

Belial was faster on four legs. They raced forward, powered by desperation, prepared to leap taboo be damned—

A blast of dark magic, a burst of pain as Belial was thrown aside. Byleth looked up at their attacker, an older man with a white beard, gray skin, a black and white tamarin of some kind whose tail curled around his neck, and an aura of malice radiating from them both. 

And, behind him, her father keeled over, blood pouring from the wound, the stained blade gleaming in Monica’s hand.

The man smirked, his words lost in the rush of horror. Belial staggered to their feet, Byleth was unable to do any more than watch as Monica and the man vanished in another flash of dark magic. 

“DAD!”

There was so much blood, how could he possibly lose that much blood and live. Sothis, please, help!

_ “I’m sorry, Byleth. I can’t. I’m so sorry.” _

Dorothea and Linhardt were out of magic, Hubert was so bad at faith magic that he could barely heal a bruise. Byleth struggled to scoop up her father. She slipped in his blood, her hands and knees stained red. “Dad, hold on, please we’ll get help.”

Her father didn’t respond. His breathing was horribly rapid and shallow, his skin ashen. Behind him, Domaghar lay limp on the ground, barely responding to Belial’s desperate nudges.

“Sorry kid,” she croaked. “Looks like I have to leave you now…”

“No! Domaghar, you can’t! We’re going to get help!” Belial tugged at her mane to drag the hue horse daemon along. Just a little longer, there was so much blood…

Heat built up at the corner of her eyes, ran down her face. What was this choking feeling in her throat?

“Heh...To think, the first time you cried, it would be for me…” Domaghar rolled her head towards Belial, not enough strength left to do anything more. “Kid, I’m...so proud of you. You’re gonna be okay…”

There was no change, no shifting of the world. There should have been! There wasn’t even any immediate observable change in her father’s limp form! But there was nothing but a steady drizzle of freezing rain, and in that drizzle Domaghar...vanished. One moment she was there, that indomitable warhorse, and the next she was gone. Nothing but empty armor clattering to the ground, and a stream of golden dust washed away by the rain.

“No! NO! Come back!” Belial ran after the cloud of dust, and all Byleth could do was clutch her father’s corpse and weep for the very first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah...I'm sorry guys, but Jeralt was doomed. Kronya's suspicion and need to drive a wedge between Byleth and Edelgard _immediately_ sealed his fate.
> 
> So, who do you think the people transformed into demonic beasts were? How do you all think this will go? Thank you so much for reading and enjoying, and I'll see you all soon! In the meantime, dear god please wear masks and don't go to any celebrations tomorrow if you're living in the US.


	21. What Comes Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth learns to stand again. Edelgard, hopefully, learns to express herself better. Dimitri learns who to blame. Claude learns the answers to questions he didn't even know to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings: hallucinations, brief passively suicidal thinking, harm to daemons, and intercision.

The funeral was a blur. Not the hazy blur of the Bad Days, but a grief beyond words, a pain unlike anything Byleth could have even comprehended, even now. The entire monastery, it seemed, had turned out for the funeral. There were dozens of eulogies, from a distraught Leonie to an openly weeping Alois to even Archbishop Rhea herself, all blended together into an endless litany of condolences, memories of her father that...how could she have not known what his favorite food was? Or known all those ribald tavern tales? Or that Domaghar liked to talk to Kamen as he perched on her head, while Jeralt taught a younger Leonie how to brawl in close corners and when outnumbered?

What kind of daughter was she, that she didn’t know any of these things?

She should have stood to give a eulogy, give memories of her father, the only daughter of the beloved,  _ late _ Captain Jeralt. And Belial did step forward, but...she didn’t follow. She couldn’t. What kind of daughter was she, that she couldn’t even give a eulogy to her own father, when even the gatekeeper was able to share a few words? Goddess, she really was broken in some deep, fundamental way, wasn’t she.

_ “You’re not broken! You...you just…” _

Just couldn’t even speak at her own father’s funeral. Had months— _ years _ —of lost memories, meaningful experiences that must have happened but just weren’t there. Rarely smiled and never laughed. Did she ever outright say that she loved Jeralt, her father who did the best he could at raising a broken girl and her too-distant daemon alone? She couldn’t remember, and it was too late now. Her thumb ran over the armor that Domaghar wore into battle, memorized the smooth interlocking iron and steel plates, the dings and dents that were beaten back into place, markers of all the times that armor saved Domaghar’s life—and, by extension, Jeralt’s. But it couldn't do anything for a knife in the kidneys. 

The sound of Domaghar’s armor clattering to the ground would stick with Byleth for the rest of her life. That, and the splat of mud against the lid of his coffin. 

And afterwards, the grief and pain wouldn’t stop. It was an endless series of wave after wave, to the point where it seemed like it would be easier to give up and drown.how could anybody stand this? How could Edelgard, or Petra, or Dimitri, or  _ anyone _ have possibly survived this grief? All she wanted to do was curl up and sob with a whimpering Belial. Oh Sothis, she’d give anything to not feel this again. Even the Bad Days were better than the endless waves of grief and pain! Her father was gone, and she’d never see him again. She’d never again race Domaghar across the Tailtean plains, never again fight alongside him, never again...

Belial whimpered, their tail tucked between their legs like a terrified pup, and Byleth again tried and failed to hold back tears. She had never cried before in her entire life, but now she could not stop. She would be in the middle of class, teaching her students about some ambush strategy, then remember her father showing that exact same tactic and break down sobbing mid-sentence. Sometimes she could pull herself together and finish the lecture, but other times she stood there and wiped her face dry, her students glancing nervously at her and each other, at a loss as to what to do. Hanneman and Manuela helped as much as they could, but they had their own students to worry about. Oh Sothis, please, make this stop!

_ “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” _ At Sothis’s nudging, Byleth sat on the frozen ground and let Belial into her lap.  _ “And even if I could, I won’t. This pain is part of being a person, just as much as the love you felt for him. No, the love you still feel.” _

Byleth reached out to trace the etching of Domaghar carved on the tombstone, right next to the curved horns of her mother’s daemon. Was there a taboo against this? It didn’t matter now. 

_ Jeralt Eisner. ???-1180. Resting in the warm embrace of cherished memories. _

How could anybody  _ stand _ this, this awful grief?

_ “I think because they have to. By not drowning in it. Byleth, I...I’m so sorry that this has to be one of the first things you felt so intently. Especially since I think I have something to do with that…” _

Belial looked up from where they curled up before the cold headstone, where the snow started to drift up against their form. When had it started snowing? She had been at her father’s grave for so long she hadn’t even noticed. Yet there it was, a gentle dusting on her hair, her coat, Belial’s fur. “What do you mean?” they asked.

_ “Well, remember what your dad started to tell us? And what was in his diary?” _

How could she forget? Rhea had done something to her and Belial, something that left her unable to laugh or cry or express any emotion until this year, something that left Belial near-comatose...something that made her born having Bad Days. Something that shattered Jeralt’s faith in Rhea, made him set a fire just to take her away from the monastery and cover for their escape. Something that made him raise her as ignorant of the church as it was possible to be in Fodlan. 

_ “Well...I have a couple of theories. But the implications behind them are, well...I can’t say anything just yet. I need to be sure, with something like this.” _

What was Sothis talking about? What did Rhea do to her that was so horrible Sothis couldn’t dare speak even the possibility out loud?! What was going on here? Why couldn't her father have been alive longer, just to tell her!

_ “Somebody’s coming! Do you want them to see you a wreck again? You are their professor—pull yourself together!” _

Byleth swallowed back her tears and pulled herself into a sitting position. She could still feel her face burning, but this would have to do. Especially since the person arriving was...Edelgard. _ _

Monica was a traitor, she infiltrated the Black Eagles just to get close to her and her father. She was working with the people who kidnapped Flayn, she had to have been. She would pay for what she did. But why had she spent so much time talking to Edelgard and Hubert? The three of them were practically glued together, and all the work that Edelgard and Hubert had done opening up to others stopped—no, reversed—once she showed up. Hubert in particular had become unusually withdrawn, Thanily much more clingy and less expressive. Had she been blackmailing them? Then why didn’t they tell her? Edelgard had shared her past, so why did she not trust her teacher with this? Unless there was something more sinister going on...

“No!” Belial growled, rising to their feet, shaking off the snow. “Edelgard isn’t...she wouldn’t…”

“You’re here again...Oh, Professor...you’ve been crying again. I’m sorry; it’s still hard to believe that even you cry sometimes.”

“Edelgard!” Avarine screeched, pecking at her head, a staccato with each syllable. “How could you say something so thoughtless?”

“It’s fine,” Byleth said, even though it stung in a way she wasn’t quite used to. Edelgard stopped batting away Avarine long enough for her to perch on Edelgard’s shoulder, ignored a final smack of the gyrfalcon daemon’s wing upside her head. 

“You’ve barely left this cemetery. My teacher, are you waiting for time to heal your wounds? Because if you just sit and wallow in your grief they never will. Or have you decided to curl up in a corner and lose the will to carry on?”

Those words were a slap in the face, and even as she spoke them Avarine squawked and flew off her shoulder again. “El!”

Edelgard was always blunt, always spoke her mind, but this? Her student knew the grief that she felt, laid bare her own trauma and got nothing but sympathy in return. “How can you ask me something like that?”

“My teacher, you’ve barely been able to get through a lecture for the past week and a half. I—Avarine!” She shot a glare at the protesting gyrfalcon, who gave an exaggerated sigh and settled back on Edelgard’s shoulder. Still, the look on Avarine’s face was even sterner than usual. “My apologies, my teacher. This is rather unbecoming of Avarine. As I was trying to say, I would never ask you something like that without purpose. You cannot get stuck here, not when you have responsibilities to us and your father’s memory, not to mention those poor souls transformed into demonic beasts. And as for sympathetic platitudes? Only you can truly understand your own sadness. If I cried for you, it would just be hollow. All I can do is promise to reach out my hand when the time comes for me...no, for us, to move forward...That’s all I can do.”

Avarine continued, “The organization including Monica and Solon that was experimenting on people in Remire and the chapel is still here, plotting. The archbishop has sent the knights to undertake a large-scale investigation, but there hasn’t been any information yet. Still, our enemies will soon be discovered. When they are, will you lead us into battle, or just sit here and wallow in your own grief? My teacher, you have a choice here.” 

Edelgard walked away, leaving Byleth alone in front of the grave, with nothing but her thoughts. How could Edelgard have spoken to her like that?!”

_ “She really is quite arrogant,” _ Sothis said.  _ “She spoke her mind without an ounce of reservation!” _

There was no reservation, no tact at all. But it was genuine, the most that Byleth had seen in several weeks since Edelgard had closed herself off again. It was almost...personal.

“Wait,” said Belial, “Do you think that’s what she needed to tell herself after everything that happened with her family?”

_ “It is possible. But either way, despite the way she said it, Edelgard is right. You can’t just sit here and wallow forever. The time has come to stand again. If not for your sake, then for our students.” _

Later that day, Byleth held a special seminar on how to defeat demonic beasts. And if anybody noticed her red-rimmed eyes, or the dried tear tracks on her face, they said nothing. 

* * *

Dimitri started pacing the monastery grounds shortly after Remire. If Delcabia kept to the carpet her hooves wouldn’t wake anyone up, and Sylvain usually made enough noise to cover his tracks anyway. They’d make their way down the steps, past the fishing pond. Loop around the marketplace to the stables. Past the training ground, over the fields and trees where live exercises were held. Through the graveyard, into the cathedral with its heavy silence like a blanket. If Dimitri dodged Dedue’s room he would make it back to his own just before sunrise, get a couple fitful hours of sleep that would have to last the rest of the day. 

It was harder, after Dedue and Felix switched rooms. There were a cohort of nights where Dedue caught him and would gently escort him back to his room. According to Sylvain, Levia spent the entire night standing in front of his door, while Dedue slept slumped against the corner of his room, just inside their range. 

Which—he appreciated Dedue’s concern, but he just didn’t get it! Sleeping was useless, and if he was locked in his room he and Delcabia would just pace around it like actual beasts in a cage. The long walks were the only thing that had any hope of tiring him out. He  _ needed _ to patrol the grounds. There were enemies here, monsters who preyed on innocents and if Dimitri found them  _ they would pay _ . 

(He’d feel their skulls crack under his hand, hear Delcabia run them through they would know the pain they inflicted on so many others they would feel it a thousand times over before getting to die)

And...and when he was outside, the voices were fainter. They were fuzzier in the cold winter air, their demands for vengeance and shouts of how weak and undeserving of life he was a little easier to ignore.

That was why Dimitri was on the bridge just in time to hear voices filtering up from below, far enough away that he had to strain his voice to hear. Nobody else was awake at this unholy hour. He leaned over the balcony, the chill of icy metal seeping through his gauntlets. 

There was Monica, the traitorous bitch, talking with an eerie man with ash-gray skin and colorless eyes. Only the black and white monkey daemon curled over his shoulder marked him as human. At least technically. And...that was the Flame Emperor, a daemonless monster just as the rumors said. What was he...no,  _ it _ doing here?

It was working with them. With that traitor Monica and whomever that walking demon was. Quiet. He needed to stay quiet. Hands gripped on the stone ledge tight enough for his knuckles to strain white under the gauntlets. Forced himself to breathe a hiss through his teeth, Delcabia to stamp her hoof on a patch of moss instead of actual stone. If they heard him…He shook his head, strained to listen from below. 

“Those responsible for such gruesome atrocities in Duscur and Enbarr do not deserve salvation.”

“All for your sake, and your power.”

The stone railing cracked under Dimitri’s grip, but he only noticed in a distant, passive way, like one acknowledges the clothes they wear. The war drums began their beat in the back of his head, the screams of the dead roared in his ears in time with the wind. 

Finally. “I found you…” 

_ Don’t let it get away!  _

_ What are you waiting for?! _

_ Make them bleed! Make them pay! _

_ It’s all you’re good for anyway. Who ever heard of a boar king? _

Dimitri eyed the drop. Seven meters? Ten? He’d jumped from higher up when he was young, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter. He’d kill them, even if he broke his legs and had to crawl. Father! Glenn! He’d avenge them both! Just one jump, and—

“Dimitri.”

What?! How DARE Delcabia speak to him?! What could she possibly say that was worth listening to?! He whipped around, quivered fury, demanding answers. 

She just stood there, her eyes big and wide and utterly pathetic. His father squeezed her thick neck, and though his head had been hacked off Dimitri could still feel that judgmental stare. And still she spoke! “Dimitri, I can’t make the jump.”

Because she was a boar she couldn’t jump, couldn’t land. Not like a lion, and he couldn’t carry her over the ledge either. 

_ So what? GET THEM! _ Glenn’s specter yanked back on Delcabia’s bristly fur with one hand. With the other, he pulled out one of the spears running him through, pointed down at the conversation below. 

Under his clenched fists, the cracked stone crumbled to gravel. Fine! Then she can stay up there! He didn’t need her anyway! She was nothing but a burden! 

“I’m not Belial!” she hissed. “If you jump down there without me you’ll kill us both!”

So? At least he’d die trying to avenge Glenn and his father and the rest of his family and the knights! That was all he was good for! 

A flash of light from down below, and they were gone.

No! NO! He’d missed his chance! This was the PERFECT opportunity, and now they were gone, and it was all Delcabia’s fault! 

“You stupid boar!” he roared, whipping around, spittle flying out of his mouth. Delcabia cringed and stepped back, haunches pressed up against the railing. The hands dug into her face, wormed their way into her mouth and nose and ears. “Why couldn’t you be a useful daemon?! Why couldn’t you just shut up! Then we’d be free of this!”

The shouting continued for some time. How much, Dimitri didn't really notice or care. In either case, he didn’t return to his room until long past dawn.

* * *

“What are we doing down here again?”

Simurg’s eyes gleamed in the torchlight, held at arm’s length as Claude said, “The demonic beasts came pouring out of here, right? Which means that they had to have been  _ held _ here beforehand. All the knights are out looking for Monica, or whomever she actually is, which means this is the perfect time to sneak in unguarded.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Okay, true, but why are we sneaking down here? I mean, yeah I totally get why you are, Mister I’ll-hunt-down-everyone’s-secrets-but-never-spill-mine, but why did you bring me along?”

It took Claude a moment to respond. Not because he wasn’t listening or needed time to think, but because something caught his eye. The disused chapel was crumbling to pieces, but it looked like someone had been in and out of here in a hurry. Chairs and furniture were shoved up into a haphazard pile against one wall, and there were deep marks gouged into the floor. Heavy furniture, perhaps?

_ “No. Well, not just that. These look like claw marks.” _

A flash of blue—Halmstadt flying right up to Cladue’s face—interrupted his conversation with Simurg. “Hey, Earth to Claude! Hilda’s asking a question over here?”

Hilda was, in fact, making a show of picking her way through some old rags like they were covered in blood or worse. “Ah, right. Hilda, I need you here because you know every bit of gossip that makes its way through the Academy. You’re the only one here who knows anything about—what did you call the place? Abyss?”

“Yeah! Can you believe it? All these abandoned twisty passages under the monastery, and there are these super-shady people living under there! It’s totally creepy, isn’t it?”

Well, there certainly was  _ something  _ creepy going on. Even beyond whatever Monica and Tomas—no, Solon—actually were (and truth be told, that last one stung. Claude should have been used to betrayal by now, but he had been completely taken in by the older man’s genial smile, his offer to help Claude’s search for answers, one serpent to another), there were apparently people secretly living under the monastery. And given that the Church was the kind of institution that liked to pretend everything was just fine, pay no attention to the crumbling foundation under the secretly-imported Almyran carpet, he suspected that the people living under the monastery were the kind of people the Church wanted to pretend didn’t exist in Fodlan. 

“Wooaaaaaahhh, Claude, look at this! There really is a secret tunnel back here!”

It was a dilapidated thing, literally propped up by wooden timbers, with more scratches and gouges on the sides. But it was exactly what Claude was looking for. “Ready to go poke whatever’s down there with a stick?”

“Well it’s not like I have anything better to do? Honestly this year has been just one thing after another, it’s not like whatever’s down there can be any worse than what’s going on up here.”

The tunnel changed as they made their way down it. Rough dirt gave way to ancient brick, somewhat similar to the foundations of the cathedral under all the paint and moss. IT was covered in dust and cobwebs, which made the footsteps, scuffing, and claw marks on the floor and wall stand out all the more. And as they walked, the torchlight casting long low shadows on the endless corridor (they were moving vaguely downwards, the air getting slightly damper, but Claude couldn’t tell much more than that), Simurg spoke to Halmstadt. 

“So, where did you hear about ‘super-shady’ people living under the monastery?”

“Oh! Well, some of the shiftier merchants will buy stuff off of us, and they mentioned selling at a markup to...wait…” Halmstadt’s wings drooped, and Hilda made a little guilty noise just behind Claude. “I just totally did that thing where I made judgments about people before actually knowing anything about them, didn’t I.”

“Yeah, you did. But you caught yourself without any prompting.” Claude clapped a hand on Hilda’s shoulder. “That’s already a big improvement.” Baby steps, to be sure, but at least Hilda was  _ trying. _ That counted for a lot, in Claude’s mind. And wasn’t it exactly what he had thought all along? That if people just listened, and tried, yeah sure some of them would have their heads wedged firmly up their rears but maybe some of them would pull it out instead of being told that everything was fine, that they were good and just and right. 

“I guess,” Hilda said. “But it’s, I still feel like a total idiot, you know? And this is so much effort! I’m constantly having to think about what I’m saying, or even what I’m thinking! And whenever I do that, I wind up feeling awful about the things I said or thought even a few months ago. All the way I accidentally hurt people, even you. Well, especially you. So way to go me, am I right? Honestly I, like, really want to go back in time and smack my younger self, because she said some really dumb things and now I have to undo everything on top of it all, and that’s so freaking hard!”

Halmstadt fluttered his wings from atop Hilda’s head. “Though...I kinda prefer this version of myself. But why does it have to be so hard?”

“You just said why,” Simurg said. “It’s not easy, growing trees in a desert. But do it long enough, and you may eventually have a forest. There’s a whole parable about that which I heard as a kid.”

The corridor was leveling out now, and seemed to be opening up a bit. Not for the first time, Claude lamented the fact that he could never quite get the hang of four-eye, and was instead dependent on Simurg telling him what she sensed, if she in fact picked up on anything. 

“Okay, Hilda, let's play a guessing game.” He forged on despite her groan. “There probably are a bunch of people living under the monastery, but why would the Knights and Church let a bunch of criminals live literally under the students’ feet?”

Their shoes echoed in the cool damp air of the tunnel, still warmer than the winter air outside. “You’re right, it wouldn’t make any sense. And the church doesn’t hesitate to execute criminals.”

“No, they aren’t. So then, who could be down here?”

“Hmmm…Well, you hear stories every so often about corrupt nobles targeting people. Or people who can’t pay their taxes and would be locked up or pressed into service. Maybe they’re seeking sanctuary?”

Claude rubbed his stubbly chin. Oh, he couldn’t wait for his beard to come in evenly. But the Fodlanese in him seemed to want to take its time to grow proper facial hair. “Maybe, but then why would the church keep them in the basement? Doesn’t seem like a healthy place to live.”

“Why not ask us yourself? You did come all this way, after all.”

Claude and Hilda froze, Simurg a rigid coil around his arm and Halmstadt pinned to Hilda’s head. 

A young man about his age with long lavender hair and a vivid blue jay daemon stepped into the dirty torchlight. He had an easy confident air about him, the kind where Claude just knew he wasn’t afraid to fight, and fight dirty. “You look like academy students. I’d tell you to run along like the good little kids you apparently aren’t, but something tells me that won’t work here.”

“Not to mention that apparently the last one to come down here wore an academy uniform,” said another person—a woman—in a voice somehow flat yet lackadaisical. She slung her daemon under her arm like a stack of books, leaving the other hand free to...oh no, she was a spellcaster, wasn’t she. 

Claude held up his hands, flashed his easy smile. “Hey now, this is all a misunderstanding. Surely we can talk this out.”

“Ha! A likely story!” A third woman strutted in; and what other word could Claude use, with the way she carried herself, or her somehow even flashier peacock daemon? “Your words may fool the fool, but I cannot be so easily deceived! Clearly, if you are not part of those wicked kidnappers, then you are here by order of the church to eliminate the inhabitants of Abyss!” 

So they  _ were _ on the Church’s shit list. Now Claude was getting somewhere. But before he could elaborate further, another man, along with his mountain goat daemon, stepped into the scene. 

The first impression Claude got of this guy was  _ abs. _ Those were the second and third impressions as well, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt and he was the most chiseled man Claude had seen in years. “Welcome to Abyss, kids! So your choices are as follows: line up for the beating of a lifetime, or let us lock you up like, as my pal Yuri said, the good little students that you apparently aren’t.” 

Claude’s gaze flitted from person to person, his mind churning with possible outcomes. Four versus two, and that wasn’t factoring in their daemons. Simurg could put up a fight though probably not against a mountain goat, and Halmstadt was useless in combat. Two casters, their leader looked fast and wiry with a trickster’s air about him, and the big guy looked like a good matchup for Raphael. Hilda was deceptively powerful but she really didn’t do well against mages, and close quarters were terrible for archers. These underground residents probably wouldn’t kill him and Hilda—too much unwanted attention—but they could definitely give them a very bad day. 

Now would be a  _ really  _ good time for Hilda to turn on some of her own charm. But instead she was eyeing the big guy with an odd expression. Halmstadt floated off her towards the mountain goat daemon. “...Drusionary? Is that you?”

The big guy’s attention snapped over to Hilda, eyes widening as he really took in. “Wait, hold the quill. Hilda?!”

“The one and only.”

Another pause, and then the dam broke. “Wahahaha!” 

He ran forward, laughing, and swept up Hilda into a hug. Faster than anyone could react, because Hilda dropped her stance and practically lept into his arms. “Baltie! I can’t believe it! I—you’re alive! I thought you were dead!” 

“Are you kidding me! Come on Hilda, it’d take more than a couple bounty hunters to do me in!”

The prissy mage’s mouth hung open, an expression of the disbelief they all felt as Drusionary actually  _ pranced _ in place, Halmstadt flitting from horn to horn in delight. The other woman was as seemingly apathetic as before, but she had actually dropped her daemon. Claude and the trickster guy openly gawked at the sight. 

“Look at you, Halmstadt! Of course you settled as a butterfly!”

He flashed his wings, the iridescent blue gleaming in the torchlight. “Well, I am a fragile maiden. Did you expect anything else?”

The redhaired mage cleared her throat. “Hey, B, I don’t want to interrupt your reunion, but who are these people and is this ending in a fight?”

The big guy pauses and carefully set Hilda down. “Oh, sorry. Guys, this is Hilda and Halmstadt. Remember how I’m always talking about my buddy Holst? Well this is his little sister! I dunno who the other guy is, but any pal of Hilda is a pal of mine!”

Tensions defused pretty quickly after that. They made their introductions as Claude committed names and faces to memory. Yuri and Icarus (no way were those their real names. What was his agenda?). Constance and Rubine (never introduce her to Lorenz. Gods, one was enough). Hapi and Malka Foss (she was just suppressing her emotions, right? But why was she doing that?). They looked to be wearing a patchwork uniform, faded white cut into an inverse of the Academy standard. Did the people down here emulate the Academy in some way? 

_ “That would imply education, which would therefore imply that there are  _ children _ here…” _

“So what are you doing down here, Hilda?”

“Chasing rumors of super-shady people living under the monastery. Which were totally accurate, if they let you in!”

Balthus’s guffaw was only shared by Yuri. Constance, or maybe Rubine, made an incredibly entertaining offended squawk, and Hapi gave a thoughtful hum.

“Sorry about that,” Yuri said. “Someone’s targeting Abyss, beyond the church. There’s a lot of people there who would love to see this ‘filthy’ underground city purged. For a moment we thought you were here to do just that. Apologies for the confusion.”

“We’re all pretty on edge these days,” Hapi said.

“Indeed!” Constance added. “That someone would descend to Abyss out of pure curiosity was far too outlandish to even consider!”

“You know what?” said Yuri. “You guys wanted answers. I can see it on your face, Claude. Come with us.”

Balthus laughed, “And don’t worry! You’re Hilda and Hilda’s buddy— _ the _ Claude von Riegan I’ve been hearing so many rumors about! All I’ve gotta do is say the word and you’ll be just fine down here.” 

Perfect. This was exactly what Claude had been looking for, even though a sick feeling was starting to curl its way up his body in a sick parody of Simurg’s comforting weight. Either way, he was about to get answers to a question he didn’t even know to ask about.

Yuri didn’t elaborate on himself or his friends, but he did expound on the history of Abyss as they traveled down endless winding tunnels, all alike. He spoke of a crumbling altar to a lost deity, one where everyone worshiped regardless of faith because it was the only place where someone could worship a god that was not Sothis and not have to worry about who would show up on their doorstep the next day. He spoke of a safe place where Almyran fled slavery, where Duscurian families could flee the slums and the slaughter. Where their children could grow up terrified of surface dwellers, never once seeing the sun. He spoke of a cardinal, creepy and patronizing, but cared enough to keep the merchants from price gouging and established a knockoff academy. He spoke of the knights setting themselves on the Abyssinians during that frantic search to find Flayn. 

Yuri spoke of the outcasts of Fodlan, shoved into the literal basement by a church that barely tolerated them and left to rot, forgotten. 

Claude’s hand curled into a fist around Simurg’s tail, muffled her hissing rattle to a dull clatter. Of course there’d be a place like this in Fodlan. The continent was a xenophobic pit. They needed some place to put all the undesirables when it was too much effort to simply cull the herd. Or whatever euphemisms they used. 

Next to him Hilda had gone quiet, and Halmstadt had carefully tucked himself into his rarely-used capsule. Actually, when Claude looked closer, she was practically glued to Balthus’s shadow. 

“What is it, Hilda? Worried someone here is going to mug you?” He immediately winced at the poor attempt at a joke. Come on, Hilda was actually trying here! What was the point of saying something like that just to rub it in? 

But if Hilda noticed the jab she didn’t comment on it. “No, it’s not that,” she said with a shake of her head. “Well, okay, it is a little bit but I’m trying to tell that part of my brain to shut up. I mean, we’re Baltie’s guests, we’ll be fine. It’s...I’m Hilda Valentine  _ Goneril _ . There’s a bunch of Almyrans here, and everyone in my family has pink hair. Do they hate me? Are they  _ afraid  _ of me? I mean, it’s awesome when bandits are afraid of me but not, like, random people living underground. Ugh, there are  _ kids _ here; are they afraid of me?” 

They’d stepped off into a tavern serving alcohol that smelled like it had fermented inside Leonie’s socks. Halmstadt was particularly agitated now, practically bouncing off the clear barrier of his capsule. Claude and Simurg were quiet; he had learned some time ago that when someone was thinking things through as Hilda was, the best thing to do was let them talk. Let her come to the conclusions herself. 

Hilda was pacing back and forth now. “I kinda want to go up to one of them and apologize, but would that even do anything, or just make them feel weird? What if I let one of them punch me in the nose?”

Claude bit his tongue. Hilda had no way of knowing it, but she had just brought up an old Almyran custom of retaliation—though that wasn’t the exact word, of course. By paying a tax of some sort to the party that you wronged, it would let blood feuds die. It sounded sort of similar to the duels here, except that duels had a pretty decent chance of someone winding up dead. 

“Hey, Claude,” Simurg whispered, “You think part of the reason Hilda is on our side so much is as a sort of general apology because we’re half-Almyran?”

“Eh, maybe. But either way, she is learning and trying to do better. She’s learning, if we dump too much on her head right now in one go she might break. And hoo boy if we get the Gonerils on our side things are going to be so much easier.”

“True.” Simurg hissed and looked up at the crumbling ceiling, stained from smoke and unknown water stains. “I think we have something else we need to do first though.”

Claude nodded. Cracking open the Throat—that hadn’t changed. But it looked like he had a ceiling to tear open first.

* * *

She still missed him so much. Even now, most days, Byleth would have the idle thought of sparring or fishing with her father after class. And then she’d remember. 

She was able to get through most days without crying now, at least.

But still, the thoughts would pace around her head over and over. Like an animal in a cage, Sothis helpfully supplied. What could she have done differently? That Thales guy came out of nowhere, but he had to have been nearby to react so quickly. What if she had inspected the chapel with her father? What if she had another Divine Pulse?

_ “Then you would have traded one of your student’s lives for your father’s. Could you live with yourself if that had been the outcome instead?” _

How could Sothis even bring up something like that?! Even just the memory of seeing her students die and die again, even though they all lived and breathed, was enough to set her to screaming. Her father or her students, why did that have to be a choice at all?

Those, along with the grief-fueled rage, were the thoughts circling around and around in Byleth’s head as she guided her students to the Sealed Forest courtesy of Edelgard’s tipoff and the grudging endorsement of the church. Leonie was there too, having refused to take no for an answer when she learned where Byleth’s students were going. For her part, Byleth was all too willing to have Leonie come along. Jeralt was her father, but he had also been Leonie’s mentor. The man who taught her how to fight, how to read and write. The only one outside her village who saw the potential for what she could be, who guided her along, Leonie had said in between the tears. She deserved to be a part of this too.

The Sealed Forest was...odd. Not the forest itself, that was all old-growth trees and thick canopy that remained unharvested despite its proximity to the monastery. But there were weird metallic structures, almost like giant rusted-out dolls, scattered throughout the Sealed Forest and half-sunk into the earth. Whatever they once were, they were now rusted-out hunks of metal, home to birds and squirrels. And as much as Edelgard, Hubert, and Linhardt’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, they had more important things to do. 

Thankfully, Monica, or whomever she was, was far too egotistical to stay quiet for long.

“Hello, hello!” she chirped from somewhere in the trees. “Welcome to the forest of death! So glad of you to come here; my little beast pals needed some new chew toys!”

Ferdinand stepped forward, leaping off his mount in one smooth motion for better mobility in the thick trees. “I think not! Monica, you can come with us quietly and face justice or answer for your crimes here and now!”

“Aww, you really think you’re gonna get me, Ferdie-birdie? That’s adorable! And my name isn’t Monica, it’s Kronya! This is what I really look like!”

She lept out of the trees and...changed. The cuckoo daemon was the same as before but Monica...wasn’t. The general body shape and height were the same, yes, but this woman had ash-gray skin, bright orange hair, and a tattoo on her face. Instead of the Academy uniform she wore an extremely skin-tight, well, outfit was putting it generously. There were odd appendages jutting out from the suit that twisted and writhed in the air, perhaps animated by some sort of magic? Her daemon flitted from one tentacle-like appendage to another as they lazily moved through the air.

“How kind of you to reveal your true identity to us,” Hubert growled, dark magic igniting in his hands, Thanily’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Your death will prove most educational.”

“Oh, Hubiekins, you’re here too! And here I thought I had taught you a lesson. It’s okay, I’m more than happy to teach another! Say, just how did you get Thanily’s fur that soft? I can’t wait to run my fingers through it again!”

The Black Eagles froze. Hubert went still, Thanily rigid next to him with her ears pinned all the way back, her tail flat against her legs. Ferdinand was the first to voice the concern of his classmates. “Hubert, what is she talking about?”

Monica—no, Kronya, blinked. “Oh wow, you really didn’t tell anyone. Such a good, obedient little boy! Not that it’ll help you now, of course!”

Thanily was shaking, a barely-perceptible tremor against Hubert’s leg. Hubert himself was rigid, his jaw clenched, his face red. 

“Monica, or Kronya, or whatever you are. You  _ will _ answer for your crimes, here and now.”

“Oh? Edel, you’re not seriously here to kill me, are you?”

Avarine mantled her wings over Thanily, guarding the fox daemon as Edelgard scoffed, “Of course I am. All I see before me is someone who killed my teacher’s father, and attacked my retainer.”

Kronya just laughed again. “You’ll have to catch me first!” And then she was off running through the forest, those false arms grabbing onto low branches and propelling her along like a monkey swinging through the trees, her daemon flying alongside her. 

Byleth’s head roared. Monica was Kronya, was someone else entirely just like Solon. She had taken in this imposter who had killed her father, who had attacked Hubert, who had  _ touched Thanily _ . And she had them work together for months! What kind of teacher was she, that she didn’t notice this, that she couldn’t protect her students?!

_ “He never told us; how could we have known? But she’ll pay for this now!” _

A roar tore itself out of Byleth’s throat, a roar answered by a tortured shriek because there was a demonic beast bounding out of the forest after them! 

“We’ve got this, my teacher.” Edelgard readied her axe; all of her students were already in a fighting stance. “Have faith in us and focus on Kronya!”

Byleth didn’t need to be told twice. Belial was already off running, a gray streak in the woods unhindered by range. Leonie, deceptively strong, pulled Byleth up on her horse. “Come on Professor, let’s get her! I don’t care who she is or what she calls herself but she’ll pay for what she’s done!” 

Leonie’s horse was a lighter and swifter breed, more suited for forest riding than Ferdinand’s preferred breed of stout and sturdy warhorse, but Belial was faster still. As Belial chased after Kronya, murder in their yellow eyes, Leonie urged her horse to tail them, so swift that even at a full gallop they were still out of what would be any normal daemon’s range.

“Seriously, that will never stop being freaky,” Leonie muttered. Kronya was still several dozen meters in front of them, a quickly moving flash through the thinning trees. Her daemon was an even smaller target, too small for Belial to reliably grab. Leonie cursed and grabbed her bow. “Better lean back, Professor.”

The first arrow clanged off of the appendages with the telltale sound of metal on metal. The second arrow went wide entirely. The third lodged into the meat of her thigh. Kronya shrieked, her daemon spiraling outward the ground like he had been shot mid-air, just barely recovering before impact. 

Kronya took a few more steps, then crashed to the ground, a stone platform in the middle of the forest with pillars at each corner. The platform was cracked, with moss creeping in from the edges, but stopping short the moment a worn-down sigil edged into the stone began.

Solon stood in the center of the altar. Belial, the first to reach the structure, snarled. Perfect, they could take out both monsters at once.

“What are you waiting for?” Kronya shouted. The arrow was still lodged in her, blood slowly trickling from the wound. She took a step and then collapsed on her hands and knees. “Solon, I need some help over here!”

Belial tensed, readied for the moment where their daemons would reveal themselves. Solon approached Kronya, leaned on his staff as he bent over to inspect her. “Yes...you most certainly do.”

Quick as a lightning strike, his snake daemon snatched up Kronya’s cuckoo daemon. He shrieked and failed in the viper’s jaws, while below Solon, Kronya screamed. Solon ignored her and changed what appeared to be a scythe of glowing ultra-black magic into being. 

Kronya’s ashen face went even paler, her struggles redoubled. “No! NO! You can’t! Please, Solon, don’t! You can’t! Do it to one of those filthy surface beasts but not me, please! Don’t!”

In the snake’s jaws, the cuckoo daemon similarly begged and cried to deaf ears. 

Solon merely chuckled. “We have no time, Kronya. Do not despair, for your death will be our salvation!” 

He brought the magic-shaped scythe down between Kronya and her daemon.

There was a scream, a muffled thunderclap, the  _ feeling _ of a too tight band being cut in two, each end snapping back in one movement. Kronya and her daemon both went limp, nothing more than empty puppets.

“Hy...perion…” she gasped, reaching in the direction of the little bird.

Kronya’s last breath was little more than a formality, one that Solon paid no heed to as he started chanting another spell. 

Dark energy—no, dark magic—not unlike Hubert’s spells flared up around the perimeter of the altar, sealing off Solon and Belial from everyone else, nearly throwing Leonie and Byleth off her horse just inches from the steps of the altar. The magic roared, a roar of arcanic flame that, before Belial could react, shot out to engulf them.

Solon and his daemon’s beady black eyes gleamed through the rage of energy. “Be gone with you, Fell Star.”

The last thing Byleth saw before passing out was the earth opening up and swallowing Belial whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, it's not Byleth who gets sucked into the space between worlds, but Belial. This is probably one of the last major line-ups with canon in the fic. I hope you're all excited to see what comes next because I sure am. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy! I'm gonna get ready for work and also work on outlining the next chapter. See you all soon and please stay safe. Seriously, it seems like every day is worse than the last one over here.


	22. The Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is Byleth, truly? Or, rather, _what_ is she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually done yesterday but then the power went out because of the tropical storm. So here it is--I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings: Non-consensual daemon touching.

Edelgard yanked her axe free from the demonic beast’s skull and made her way to the altar just in time to see the dark magic engulf Belial. Just in time to see Byleth sway and slump off Leonie’s horse.

“No!”

Her classmates were close behind, close enough to watch Edelgard cradle their unconscious (but alive, her chest rose and fell but where was her heartbeat?!) professor, close enough to hear Leonie spit, “You bastard, what did you do to our professor?!”

Solon merely chuckled, that snake peeking out from his robes to revel in their horror. “I have sent your precious teacher’s daemon to the space between worlds. Of course, since your professor is still here, well, no connection could ever survive the strain.” 

The world stopped, and Edelgard was hurled back into the cells under the palace, rats scuttling at her feet and chewing at her clothes. Watching her brothers and sisters die one by one, unable to even protect herself. Remembering the sight of Greta and Remlis being marched from the cell across from hers. And then, later, Greta dragged back alone. Tossed into the cell, unable to do anything more than lie in her own waste and moan Remlis’s name until she, eventually, died. 

Someone shrieked, or maybe many people. There was the sharpness of Avarine’s talons on her right shoulder, a gloved hand heavy on her left. 

“That’s impossible!” Dorothea cried out, clutching Calphour to her chest as if, were she to loosen her grip, he would crumble away. “Belial has always been able to distance themselves from Professor Byleth! And she’s still alive!”

“Yes, it seems she is made of sturdy stuff, to survive intercision. Certainly sturdier than Kronya.” She couldn’t look at the corpse of the thing that had pretended to be Monica. None of them could. Solon continued, reveling in his lecture, “But there are worse things than death. Her daemon in the endless void, all alone with nothing but the pain of that loss...I cannot imagine a worse torture.” 

Martin had apparently survived the longest after...after. She’d heard snippets, the excitement at how well he followed commands, the frustration at how he needed to be commanded to do anything. Hubert had stolen some research notes as part of the mass of papers he’d snatched up from one of the makeshift labs. She’d stopped reading after the part describing what was left of her eldest brother as akin to a clockwork doll slowly winding down. Hubert had ended his suffering, and that was enough. 

She couldn’t even hold Avarine down there. They’d thrown her into a cage made of a strange metal that caused blinding pain with every touch, that not even Avarine’s bone-crushing hyena jaws could crack. All she could do was reach a finger through the bars for Avarine to lean against, and that contact was all that they could get. 

Avarine’s talons squeezed hard enough to punch through her leather pauldron, hard enough to pierce her skin and draw blood. Hubert was a heavy presence on her other shoulder, and the pressure and pain kept her grounded to reality through the horror and the memories of the palace 

Professor Byleth was limp in her arms, unconscious, Belial nowhere to be seen. If Byleth...if Byleth was...what would Hubert do? He had not hesitated to...help her siblings, in the only way they could be helped anymore. Would he do the same to Byleth? 

“Linhardt, what are you saying?” Caspar’s voice cut through the fog—it could cut through nearly anything, brought her back to reality. 

Linhardt held Runilite tight as he spoke. “Our professor is a quite unusual person. Let’s just say that I believe Solon is operating with incomplete information, and that our professor may very well come back to us.”

“Well then!” Caspar shouted, “Lin’s the smartest person I know! If he thinks the Professor is coming back, then she’s coming back! And you’re gonna have hell to pay!”

Another squeeze of Avarine’s talons, another flash of pain grounding Edelgard. _ “El, what are you doing? We’ve got to get it together!” _

Avarine was right. That part of her life was over and should not be affecting her right now! If Linhardt was right—and she needed him to be right, so badly that it was shameful—then she needed to keep her classmates safe until their teacher came back. And if Linhardt was wrong, well, she would have to do so regardless. 

So Edelgard set Byleth down on the stone altar and drew her axe. “Solon. Our professor is someone special. And either way, you will pay for your crimes.” 

“Even you, Edelgard? Solon did not look at her, but his snake daemon did, swaying back and forth as she peered up from his robes. “A shame. I suppose I will have to kill you all!”

* * *

Belial drifted. This was not the darkness of sleep or dreams, but something omnipresent and oppressive. Their paws paddled in the void, and when they finally landed on something solid, well. It was like the walking of dreams, only solid because Belial made it so, because tumbling head over tail in this blank space was so much worse. 

There was nothing here. Not the forest, not her students. No Byleth, no Sothis. Just Belial and their own thoughts.and so, for the first time, the pain of that loss howled through them. It was overwhelming, an amputated limb trying to reach out only to realize that the hand at the end was long gone.

It was not a physical pain, would have been preferable had it only been physical. But it was the overwhelming _ loss_, their heart cast out into the ocean and left to drown.

No...the pain had always been there. For as long as they and Byleth had existed, there was this loss, until it was all they had ever known and learned to live with it, did not even realize that there was a world without it.But now,with nothing but Belial and the void, there was nothing to do_ but _ focus on it.

“You fool!”

Sothis appeared in a flash before them, and despite the fury on her face, Belial had never been so happy to see another person or receive her chastisement in their life. Sothis, true to form, jumped right in with her lecture. “What were you thinking, charging right into an enemy's trap? Are you just a boulder that rolls down whatever hill it's on? No, even a boulder has more sense!”

Belial’s tail drooped. They were right, of course. Had warned Belial not to charge right in from the moment their paws struck that strange altar. And yet a fury unlike that which they had ever felt before, pure and all-consuming, urged them onwards. “I can explain…”

“Excuses won’t help us! This darkness is terrifying! I never thought I would be back here again…” And Sothis did look scared, her eyes wide in a way similar to the first time they saw one of their students die, but...more intense. Because there was no Divine Pulsing their way out of this one, was there.

“No, there isn’t,” Sothis said, still rooted to her throne. “As you and I are one, I, too, am trapped within this void. Our world is but one of many, like pages in a book, and we are currently trapped in the space between each page. This realm of darkness we are in is separate from the world from which we came, the world in which Byleth still remains. The connection between you could not survive such a separation. You should be comatose, or no more.” She sighed, and suddenly that anger and fear were replaced with what looked like...sadness. Immense sadness. “But instead here you are, unchanged. It appears my hypothesis was correct, even though I did not wish it to be so.”

“What are you talking about?” But Belial could feel the dread creeping up, something awful which they had, on some level, suspected for a very long time. 

Sothis sighed, and though she looked like a young girl, her eyes were so much older. “Do you recall your father's diary? He said you were a child who never cried nor laughed. The reason you are able to stand here before me and speak with me, a daemon without their human, only half of a person, is that you have always been only half of a complete being. I believe you have been severed since birth...and I think I am the one to blame.”

What?! Belial didn’t know whether to scream or cry, attack or deny or run away. They’d heard of severed people, of course. It was one of those awful rumors whispered about deep in the night, usually the result of some horrible accident. A human without their daemon, mutilated in the worst possible way. Some of them approached functional. Most just sat around and drooled a lot. In many cases death was a release. How could they be counted among those ranks?! But...it was true. It had to be true, they realized with a growing horror. But how could Sothis, who watched over her and her students, possibly have caused them to be so...so mutilated? 

Sothis was still talking. “I must have been asleep, but even then, I was, unknowingly, a part of you. My name is Sothis, with everything that implies. I am Sothis, the progenitor goddess. The one who watches over Fodlan and the creatures dwelling there. She who watches and hears their cries but is helpless to respond the way she once could. She who died and then, in a fashion, returned.”

“...” And yet, somehow, they knew it to be true. How else could Byleth turn back time to protect their pups?

“I am Sothis, but...not entirely. Just as you are a part of Byleth, I am...let us say that I am an aspect of Sothis. Sothis’s daemon, if you will. The term is not quite accurate, but it is useful enough for our purposes.”

“What are you talking about?” That didn’t make any sense. She was Sothis’s daemon? But if Sothis was gone, then how was this...daemon of Sothis, who looked like a younger Sothis and bore the same name as Sothis, still here? And why was she inside Byleth and Belial?

“I do not know how Rhea managed it, but she allowed me to exist inside of you. She somehow placed me, the daemon of Sothis, in you. But doing so must have severed the connection between you and Byleth. It was only my presence, when I was awake, that allowed the connection between you to be restored. Meanwhile, I unknowingly and unintentionally was connected, a second daemon to you both, an accidental parasite. The truth is I have always been with you, but although my presence has given you guidance and power, it has also damaged you and Byleth in the worst possible way. It may not have been my fault, but the damage was done. Words are not enough, but I am so sorry.”

So that was the truth of the Bad Days. When Sothis was awake, they and Byleth were one complete being. But when she was asleep, they were severed. “It’s not your fault.” 

She smiled. “Thank you. Still, my existence has only damaged you, and yet it is within you that I found my power yet again. The power of a goddess. The power of the progenitor god. Perhaps then it is only right that I do this to escape this place. You have done and sacrificed so much for me, after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Belial shifted uncomfortably. They didn’t like where this was going.

Sothis closed her eyes. “There is only one thing left to do to save us from this darkness of eternity. I must now use the power of a god. However, though I am Sothis’s daemon, I lack a body of my own. And so, I must relinquish all the power that I have to you. The time has come for you and I to truly join as one. And when that comes to pass...then I shall disappear.

What? No! Belial yelped and snarled, “I won’t allow it! There has to be another way.”

Sothis merely shook her head. “I’m sorry, but those are the laws of the world, or more accurately the space between them. But do not despair. When I say disappear, I do not mean death and oblivion. I am Sothis’s soul, just as you are Byleth’s. I will join with you, and so we will never be apart. But, as I am only akin to Sothis’s daemon, I will no longer have a chance to speak with you. I shall miss it.”

And at that, something in Belial broke. “I...I’m going to miss you, Sothis.” First her father, and now Sothis? Why did she have to leave them? Belial let out a tiny whimper. They were going to be all alone. They _ were _ all alone. No Byleth, their other half gone. Never there, never got to be connected the way a human should be. It hurt, so much, and Sothis helped but she could only do so much and now she was going to disappear, or fuse, but she would be _ gone! _

Sothis left her throne to wrap her arms around Bellial. The contact helped, soothed the sharpest edge of the pain, though it was still present in a way so different than the constant background noise of their entire life. “I’m so sorry. If we were back in our world with Byleth, then as much as oblivion terrifies me, I would use my Dust to repair yours. But...that is impossible. So all I can promise is this: I will still be with you, even if we can no longer speak. And although I cannot fully replace the connection between you and Byleth, I can help restore some of what was lost. Though I never asked for it, and never wanted it, through you I got to see and hear this world once more. I got to watch you become a person.” She chuckled, and the gold on her clothes echoed like chimes. “I may not have acted like a goddess, but it was certainly fun. For all that you are, and for all that you have done...thank you.”

Belial felt so small; in truth they wanted to do nothing more than slink up to Sothis and keep them from leaving. But this was the only way, and hopefully she truly would remain a part of them and Byleth both. “Thank you...for everything.”

Sothis simply smiled. There was no more need for words, because after all they were part of the same being. Belial took in the sight of Sothis stepping off the throne and approaching her, the power that filled this space in the void, a defiance of the emptiness surrounding her. When she laid her lips upon Belial’s brow, the touch was just as natural and right as Byleth’s herself. 

And then there was the surge of _ power. _

It should have hurt, this sudden rush, this energy that poured from Sothis into Belial as their bodies merged and fused. They felt _ something _ twist and change within them and pour outward, felt their body tremble as the sudden rush of divine energy threatened to tear them apart.

You can handle it! Belial thought they heard Sothis say. But that was just their imagination, the voice in their heads. They gritted their teeth. They had one shared goal. Leave this empty place. Rejoin Byleth. Save their students.

_ You are my pups, and I will look after you! _

Belial snarled, bared their fangs, and lept. 

* * *

Solon clucked his tongue in disappointment, and his daemon let out a disappointed hiss. “A shame. I suppose I will have to kill you all!”

“...No.”

Byleth, still horrifically alone, staggered to her feet. Lurched off the altar towards Solon. Her face was blank, but her eyes _ burned _. 

Above them both, the sky tore open. Edelgard could only stare at the empty void hanging in the evening sky for a few seconds before the wrongness of it forced her to turn away. But those few seconds were enough for her to see a wolf’s fangs bite down, further widening that rupture in the heavens. 

And Byleth kept lurching forward, her stone-less sword glowing as bright as the setting sun. It was slow, yes, but only in the way that a rockslide was slow, and it was under her own initiative. To think that the sight of her teacher walking would overwhelm her so. 

“You will _ never _ touch my students again.”

“So the fell star can overcome even the darkness itself,” his snake daemon hissed, suddenly very still. "Solon..."

Solon stepped back, another oily dark magic spell flaring to life in his hands. “But how? That spell severed the connection between you and your daemon. You shouldn’t even be alive right now, much less able to speak.”

Byleth took another step forward. “I’ve been severed my entire life.”

The Sword of the Creator sliced the lobbed spell in two. Stretched towards Solon. Carved a jagged gash across his chest. 

“This pain is all I’ve ever known.”

Solon crumpled to the ground, his daemon dissolving in a puff of golden light. Byleth and Belial stood there, sword aglow, framed by the setting sun. They were there, they had returned. And yet nobody could quote approach, for they were held back by the sight of—

“Belial,” Avarine asked in a low voice, “What happened to you?”

Byleth blinked, and turned around, and stopped. Her eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter and breathed, “Oh.”

Belial was still mostly a wolf. Certainly wolf-shaped. But their silver fur was now light green, like grass hidden away from the sun. Their amber eyes now, quite literally, glowed golden, those round pupils sharpened to a snake’s slit. Large fuzzy wolf paws were now narrowed, with stubby nails now stout claws. And then there were the horns, large and white and sweeping behind their ears. 

Belial looked as though someone had crudely smashed together a wolf with...with the Immaculate One. Avarine quivered under outstretched wings. What had happened to Belial, Byleth’s daemon, the other half of her?!

Linhardt and Runilite eyed Belial with a somewhat detached clinical fascination, and Flayn’s eyes went wide with some realization that she kept to herself. But everyone else hesitated, not that Edelgard could blame them. Truth be told, she was concerned and apprehensive as well. No...she was frightened, on an existential level. What had happened to warp the shape of Belial so? And what did this mean for Byleth? How much of her was left in there?

Her teacher had no answers. She hadn’t said anything yet, instead lost in Belial’s gaze as she knelt before them. Her hand trembled slightly in midair, as if she was reaching out towards a half-feral thing. Byleth closed her eyes when her callused fingertips traced those smooth white horns. 

“I can’t hear her,” Byleth whispered. “Belial, where is she?”

Belial raised a paw to their chest. “In me? With me? Sort of, it’s complicated…I’m honestly not sure about all the details myself. But our students are safe?” Byleth nodded, and Belial let out a huff. “That’s all we both cared about.”

Who was this _ we _ ? What happened to Belial in that void between worlds? Was Byleth—quiet and distant but still _ there _ in a way her brothers and sisters never were again after—truly...?

“My teacher?” Avarine asked, still pinned to her shoulder. Though that might have been because her talons were stuck in the leather. “How did you manage to escape?”

Belial looked up at her, with those hellish yellow eyes. There was something else in there now, not just her teacher who believed in her. Who listened, without judgement or contempt. Who cared. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but the goddess helped me. Or at least an aspect of her.”

Byleth didn’t lie. Byleth _ couldn’t _ lie. “I see. That’s...I’m glad you escaped, however it was.” So that was it then. Her teacher cared, had been raised apart from the church and quietly horrified by every new thing she learned about it and the glorified caste system that was Crest supremacy, had grown up free of such indoctrination and damage, taught to answer questions for herself. But that wasn’t just her teacher in there anymore. The goddess, or a powerful creature calling itself a deity, whatever it was it had helped Belial out of that void between dimensions—and had demanded something in exchange. That was simply the way of the world. Nobody, especially not a deity, would offer such power for free. And if Byleth truly was—truly had been... _ severed _ (say the word Edelgard, no matter how awful it may be, you have always harshly spoken the truth!), well then. She knew all too well how most survivors were little more than living husks. Even if Byleth had staggered her way back from that void, the green of Belial’s fur, those horns that had no place on a wolf’s head, they said enough. Whatever had saved Belial had left their mark. Had filled that empty vessel with themselves. And even if Byleth was sympathetic, she doubted that _ they _ would take kindly to her war on their church and system. 

Would there be enough of Byleth and Belial left in there to resist, when the time came?

A thud, two thuds, interrupted Edelgard’s swirling thoughts, as Byleth slumped to the ground again, Belial falling unconscious with her. 

“Professor!” The rest of her classmates ran forward to help. Avarine flapped her wings and struggled to pull free of the pauldron—she really had dug her talons in so deep that they got stuck. Edelgard could feel her own blood seep hot down her shoulder from those puncture wounds, then seep into her clothes and dry sticky. They were starting to sting, now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline faded away. 

“Avarine.” A deep breath, forced calm. The awkward fumbling of her reaching up across her shoulder to extricate Ava’s talons from the leather. Finally, Avarine launched free to Belial. 

Lysithea has undergone blood reconstruction many years before Edelgard, and so all pigment in her hair had long since burned away. Even when she hit puberty, the younger student had awkwardly admitted once over their teatimes, the new hair also grew in bone-white without even a flirtation with her natural-born shade. Edelgard’s eyebrows were still brown, as were the last few strands of hair that refused to surrender to the inevitable.

There was no gray left in Belial’s fur at all. No black or white either, none of the subtle complexities of a wolf daemon’s thick double coat. It was all, in an instant, transformed to various shades of green.

“She’s alive, right?” Bernadetta asked, curled around Malecki. “Even if the Professor and Belial aren’t c-connected anymore, they’re still linked in that way, right? I’m sorry, this was probably stupid to ask…”

“No,” Hubert answered. “That, at least, remains. As long as Belial is present, even in this...form, our professor is still alive.” And even among their classmates, his reputation was so fearsome that nobody dared ask just _ how _ he knew that information. Whatever they were thinking was almost certainly far more innocent than the truth. 

“She must have passed out from the strain,” Edelgard mused. “I’ll carry her back.” She couldn’t ask Hubert; more importantly, she needed…Well. What she _ wanted _was to feel Byleth’s breath, slow and even against her ear. The warmth of her body, her hair tickling the nape of her neck. But what she needed was this reminder of what she had allowed to happen through her desperate bargain and silence when she could have asked for help. Edelgard needed to remind herself of the human cost of what she was about to do necessary though it may be. Otherwise, even as she forged onward in her crimson path, her heart would freeze and she would lose herself. 

Edelgard’s wounded shoulder cried out at the sudden pressure, but pain was an old friend. Avarine landed between Thanily’s shoulders, whispered, “We’ll talk later,” into her ears. Thanily stiffened, briefly, and Hubert couldn’t quite look her in the eye, but she nodded nonetheless. 

Why hadn’t Hubert told her what Monica had done? He was her retainer, her confidant, her closest and most loyal friend. It stung more than she thought it would, that despite all his devotion Hubert couldn’t bring himself to bare his vulnerabilities the way she opened herself up to him. But there always had been a bit of a disconnect there which Hubert imposed upon himself. They were friends and allies, yes, but Hubert always saw himself as a von Vestra first, with all the implications that entailed. Whether that was born from his devotion to duty or some personal atonement for his father’s betrayal, the outcome was the same. Hubert placed her on a pedestal, almost never contradicted her, and never let himself burden her with his troubles. 

_ “I swear, if that is why Hubert kept this...this violation to himself, I will be absolutely furious! We could have figured out some way to dispense of Monica without jeopardizing our tenuous alliance!” _

Edelgard rolled her eyes. _ “But that would have required quite a bit of finesse when we are already overwhelmed. Of course we would have done it, but you know as well as I do that Hubert’s only goal is to make our shared path as easy for me to walk as possible, no matter the cost to himself. I don’t think he realizes the effect that has on me as his friend, because he never considers his own well-being unless forced.” _

_ “We’ll talk with him about that later. For now we have a more immediate problem.” _ Avarine cleared her throat and spoke out loud. “How are we getting Belial out of here?”

The logistical question was an incitement to pause. Avarine, Thanily, and Runilite were the largest daemons in the Black Eagle house. They were, combined, approximately a quarter to maybe a third of Belial’s size. 

Leonie was the first to voice an option. “If we can get Belial on one of our horses then riding back would be simple enough but...yeah, no. Not even with extremely thick gloves. There’s one guy in my village who’s been in a similar situation but he has seizures and talked it out with his friends beforehand.”

Runilite did not even attempt to drag Belial through the snow. “I’m sure you’ll dismiss this out of hand as unreasonably callous, but have you considered the merits of simply leaving Belial here until they wake on their own?”

“How could you even suggest that?” Malecki cried out. “Even if Bernie and I weren’t together—” and he shuddered at the thought; Bernadetta gave an involuntary cry and held him closer to her heart—“I still couldn’t bear to be away from her. Not to mention that there’s all sorts of animals and monsters in the woods.” Edelgard, for her part, held her tongue, but just the thought of leaving Belial all alone also made her want to vomit. 

Flayn said nothing, but quietly observed and took in everything around her. At least she knew better than to interfere. Why did she have to return to the monastery and the epicenter of what was about to occur? She and Seteth could have had a peaceful life had they chosen not to meddle in the affairs of humans once more. 

Runilite shrugged. “Well, do you have any better ideas?”

“Hm.” Bernadetta tapped her chin. “Levia’s the biggest daemon in our class, and Delcabia’s also pretty big. What if we split up? Some of us stay here with the Professor and Belial, while the rest of us go get Dimitri and Dedue?”

Petra shook her head. “You are having good thoughts, Bernadetta, but we are being hunted by strong enemies right now. It is too dangerous, for us to be separating ourselves.”

“Hey, Lin, you just figured out that warp spell, right? Can you warp Belial back to the monastery?”

Linhardt just rolled his eyes. “Yes Caspar, I’ll warp Belial over three kilometers to a location I can’t see, and pray that they don’t arrive two stories midair. I can’t see any possible drawbacks to that decision.”

“Yeesh, it’s not like I like know white magic.”

“And I don’t know how to punch people outside of theory, so we’re even.”

Dorothea sighed. “Look, unless one of us brought a giant tarp to drag Belial back on, we’re running out of options fast.”

“Oh! I believe I—ah, yes! I knew I had not forgotten! A noble must always be prepared, after all.”

“...You’re kidding, Ferdie.”

But Ferdinand had, in fact, procured a large and sturdy-looking tarp. “I never kid about such matters! I obtained a tarp shortly after Embrienne settled for these exact circumstances.”

“Of course you did,” Hubert muttered into the palm of his hand. Below her talons, Avarine could feel Thanily quake with suppressed laughter. 

Which was how Belial ended up being dragged back on a makeshift tarp by two horses through the snow to Garreg Mach. As Ferdinand was busy guiding his horse in concert with Leonie’s, Embrienne floated down to Avarine and Thanily. 

“Avarine, please convince Edelgard to allow us to assist her in carrying our professor back to the monastery. There is room enough on our horses to carry her without significant trouble.”

“Thank you, Embrienne, but we truly are fine.” Truth be told, her shoulder was starting to burn, but she’d lived through far worse. This was her fault, and her burden to bear.

But Embrienne, as always, was persistent. “Avarine, this is not about besting you! You may be the imperial crown princess, but even before the insurrection the emperors depended on their ministers for assistance and to share the burdens of the crown.” 

“Careful there, Embrienne,” Avarine coolly replied. Underneath her, Thanily raised her hackles and curled her lip in a flash of fang. 

Much to Avarine’s surprise, Embrienne did not double down but conversed quietly with Ferdinand before floating back to her. “My apologies; I did not mean to bring up painful mesmerizes. What I meant to say was that as your classmate, peer, and—I should hope, your friend—I would like to help, as together we can shoulder more than one person would be able to manage alone. I do not believe I am mistaken when I say that all of us feel similarly. Please, Avarine, allow us to assist you.”

Was it truly so difficult, to reach out a hand, or grasp one offered to her? Even for something so essentially inconsequential as this? She’d already opened up once before and that had gone better than expected. Petra and Dorothea’s allegiance was unlikely to change, not even if something else was sharing her teacher’s body. 

“Caspar, Petra, would you be able to lend me assistance?”

* * *

Lady Edelgard resolutely avoided the subject once Professor Byleth was safely delivered to the infirmary. She had other things to worry about—her imminent coronation, holding a regrettably necessary but increasingly tenuous alliance together, bringing the rebellious nobles to heel. Compared to those monumental tasks, the state of their professor, even though she wielded the Sword of the Creator, was a mere trifle. A mere trifle that Hubert would be more than happy to consider the implications of and therefore intervene accordingly. 

No matter how unnerving it was on some instinctive level to see Belial so changed, he would gladly contemplate it in full. Once Hubert had hypothesized that there was a second face, of sorts, behind their professor’s empty gaze. Perhaps it made a certain kind of poetic sense, to see that face exposed at the same time when their little game of playing school was nearly at an end. 

He could not bring himself to fully trust their professor the way Lady Edelgard had so foolishly decided to, but to see their professor so forcibly changed into one of those beasts was...distressing. How many orders of magnitude worse was it for Lady Edelgard? 

No, he would not let this trouble her any further. Once Lady Edelgard was crowned and their true work begun, he would release their professor from what must surely be unbearable torment. She deserved that much. 

“Must we discuss this now?” Thanily asked, tail lashing back and forth.

Hubert said nothing, for Thanily knew perfectly well it was that or dwelling on Kronya’s taunts. The way she so cruelly gloated about one of the worst moments of his life to his classmates, to Lady Edelgard. And _ that _ would inevitably lead his traitorous mind to remember just what it felt like, having her hands around—

He shook his head. No. He needed to focus solely on the mission. They would be leaving for Enbarr in a few days, and Duke Aegir in particular had to be none the wiser. Best to avoid Ferdinand for now; he could not risk the infuriatingly persistent noble suspecting that something was amiss. 

Hubert opened the door to the classroom, where he had left his books and some supplies. Ferdinand and Bernadetta were waiting for him. 

“No.” He turned around to walk right back out the door. 

“Hubert, wait.” Ferdinand was already up and moving, carefully placing himself between Hubert and the door. Not on the side where Thanily stood, he noticed. “If you truly do not wish to talk, then Bernadetta and I will let you leave. But it seems as though this has been troubling you for some time, and you have not been able to bring yourself to make yourself so vulnerable.”

“And what makes you think I would possibly emotionally expose myself to _ you? _”

Ferdinand flinched at the blow, Embrienne dropping back down onto his shoulder. “You are right. I am sorry, for acting in such a presumptuous manner.”

“Hubert, please don’t be angry at Ferdinand!” Bernadetta hid behind Malecki’s quills. At his gaze upon her, she raised his body higher to cover her storm-gray eyes. Then, she slowly forced her arms down. “It, it was my idea. We’re your friends, or at least I like to think we are, and something was clearly bothering you but you wouldn’t tell us why. I mean, I get it, I shut out the world and keep things to myself all the time, but I do it so much that it was hurting me. And it was starting to hurt you too.”

How dare she be so presumptuous? To think that she knew best and—

_ “She’s right.” _ Thanily looked up at him, her fur so bright orange it almost hurt to look at in the winter evening light. _ “I’ve been telling you that we needed to let someone in, rather than carrying this burden ourselves.” _

She must have seen the miniscule change of expression on his face, a skill surely honed through years of learning to anticipate and avoid her father’s rages (and oh, just the thought of that made him burn. He was going to _ enjoy _ meting out justice on Count Varley, as much as Duke Aegir and his traitorous wretch of a father), because Bernadetta swallowed down her fear, placed Malecki on her shoulder where Embrienne could land on his paw, and said, “You and Ferdinand both said that I shouldn’t let what happened to me define me, because it was something that _ happened _ to me, not who or what I am. So it, it’s the same with you. Monica, or Kronya, or whatever she was, what she did to you and Thanily doesn’t change anything. You’re still Hubert, you’re still super-scary but also care underneath even if you’re bad at showing it?” Ferdiand said nothing, but there was no way Hubert could miss the way he squeezed encouragement into Bernadetta’s hand, or his confident nod.

Objectively, Bernadetta was right. But there was a difference between staying such a conclusion to somebody else, and accepting it in the context of his own violation. And, furthermore, “Though that may be true, neither of you have to maintain the fearsome reputation that a von Vestra must, as their liege’s second shadow. Any impression of weakness is just that—weakness.” Those words, even this admission was thick and forced on his tongue; speaking them out loud could have only been possible with Thanily’s fur pressed against his legs, her gentle yet resigned encouragement in the back of his mind. 

There was a long pause, long enough for Hubert to wonder if he had said too much, if they truly did think lesser of him. It was foolish, to care about the opinions of Ferdinand and Bernadetta, and yet he found himself caring anyway. But then Ferdinand stepped forward, that familiar glint of a challenge in his eyes, Embrienne buzzing in that vexing way he had come to know so well, and said, “Well Hubert, if that is the case, then I look forward to seeing you in the training arena! Unless you would like to step outside now? In fact, I will be so gracious as to let you have the choice of contest!”

He prattled on like that for several minutes, spouting more inanities about his superiority to Hubert—and, by extension, Lady Edelgard—and offering several poorly-veiled challenges. After about five minutes of increasing horror, Bernadetta had had enough, and dragged Ferdinand out of the room, stammering apologies to Hubert all the while.

“Well that was odd,” Thanily muttered as the door slammed behind them. Even Ferdinand is not usually so...forward.”

“They’re arguing outside the door.” Thanily, quieter and with better hearing, crept forward and pressed her ear against the heavy wood. 

“Ferdinand, why did you do that? What Kronya did to him and Thanily was absolutely awful; if somebody started shouting at me after experiencing something like that I’d probably just start screaming and crying on the spot.”

“Ah, but my dear Bernadetta, that is the key difference! Hubert needs kindness and empathy from you, but I am his arch-nemesis, his dearly detested rival!” And Flames, he could just _ hear _ Ferdinand raise a pumped fist in emphasis. “Therefore, I must make sure our interactions are unchanged. To receive kindness and restraint from me would be a humiliation beyond words for Hubert. And I will not allow his attackers another iota of power or influence over him.”

Hubert needed to sit down. Was that...Ferdinand _ understood? _

“Wow, you’ve...you’ve really thought about this. A lot better than silly old Bernie…”

There was the sound of a kiss to her hair, a soft sound which for some reason curled around his heart and _ squeezed. _ “My dear Bernadetta, I would not have even considered this if not for your influence.”

Their voices died away as they returned to their dormitories, leaving Hubert and Thanily behind in the empty classroom. Thanily sat on his lap, one hand idly resting on her fur while the other covered his face. Ferdinand and Bernadetta considered him their friend. They were concerned, and cared enough to…

He could no longer deny it. Flames, this would have been so much easier had they not wormed their way into his heart. 

* * *

Byleth drifted. 

It wasn’t sleep, not quite. It was closer to that haze between slumber and waking. But that was peaceful. This was...well, it seemed peaceful. But only at first. At the edges it was, it was sort of like a soft blanket tossed over a bed of nails. 

“In time's flow, see the glow of flames ever burning bright…”

She remembered being sick once. She and Belial had both been wracked with feverish tremors, and she could not stop coughing. Her father had pulled her into his lap, had carefully spooned bone broth into her mouth and told her sanitized versions of some of his adventures while Domaghar curled herself around Belial’s frame.

This was sort of like that, but inside out. Then she had been sick, but comforted and loved. Here, there was comfort but something wrong at the edge, or underneath.

“On the swift river's drift, broken memories alight…”

Who was singing, and why? That voice sounded familiar…

Byleth’s eyes fluttered open, and met Rhea’s soft green gaze.

“Professor. You must remain still.” 

She was...in Rhea’s lap. Back in the monastery. There was an odd weight on her stomach, like a metal object laying in her lap as she was in Rhea’s. 

“Where am I? What happened?” She almost didn’t recognize her voice, soft and hoarse and a little distant. When she raised her hand, there were red and white ribbons tied to the wrist, and her jacket was gone. She was...wearing Sothis’s clothes? But how? And why? 

“Shh, shh. Everything is all right. There is no need to worry. Those who are trying to harm you are far away, and will not touch you here.”

Rhea hummed the tune she was singing before, and lowered her hand. But not to stroke Byleth’s hair, which now had those same red and white ribbons woven through the locks. Instead, the exhausted Byleth could only watch as she laid her hand on Belial, ran her fingers through their fur in long strokes. 

Even though the connection between them was severed, the amputated stumps held together by whatever aspect of Sothis remained, the sheer _ wrongness _of it tore through Byleth and Belial both. It was as if Rhea had pried open her chest and gently stroked her stilled heart and breathing lungs while singing that lullaby. 

Did Rhea even know what she was doing? She looked so serene. “How lovely it would be for this moment to last forever. I wish I could hold on to this time we have stolen, that you and I could create a world without end.”

What was she talking about? Stop it, please! A thin sound, low and more animal than human, pulled itself from the back of Byleth’s throat. Belial trembled, struggled to stand, but they were still weak and drained from their ordeal. And when Rhea’s hand came down it was heavy as iron.

“Oh, my dear Byleth. Your appearance... You have received power from the goddess. From the moment you took hold of the Sword of the Creator, I prayed that one day the radiant power of Sothis, which bathes Fódlan in its celestial light, might reside within you. But you are so much more than the light. You are my…”

She was Rhea’s what? What had she done to her, long ago and now? The hand came down again, and again, loving strokes along Belial’s horns now please stop _ please stop! _ Sothis wouldn’t want this! Why did she think Sothis would want this?! 

But Sothis wasn’t here anymore. At least, not in a way that would change anything.

Byleth tried to fight, to flee, but she was exhausted. Her muscles would not obey and the words would not come. Rhea saw her struggles, but did not understand. “Close your eyes, dear one. Sleep, just a while longer.”

She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to run, to change back into her familiar outfit and break off Belial’s horns and run as far away from Rhea as possible. But she didn’t have the strength. The last thing Byleth heard before falling back into slumber was, “I will be watching over you, always. Always and forever.”

And she knew this to be true. She would never tolerate impudence or disobedience, would never accept a no. Whatever Rhea wanted, Rhea got, and Sothis help anyone who openly defied her. 

At least, with a loss of consciousness, she and Belial wouldn’t be able to feel this anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! A few things: Yes, Edelgard and Hubert have drawn the wrong conclusion but I hope it makes sense given their knowledge and biases. Don't worry, they'll soon learn otherwise. 
> 
> And yes, Rhea dressed up Byleth in the DLC Sothis outfit and is _petting her daemon_ because they now so closely resemble Sothis's true form. (She never really bothered to learn human customs and taboos, despite masquerading as one for so long. Meanwhile, Seteth and Flayn are trying.) Did anyone else find that scene in canon creepy?
> 
> Anyway, there are 5 chapters left before the timeskip! I hope I can have them done around the time of the first anniversary of this fic (wow). I've got an ubb fic coming up soonish as well as the next chapter, so see you all later and please wear a mask and stay safe!


	23. Her Imperial Majesty, Edelgard II And Avarine von Hresvelg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth grapples with a moral crisis. Edelgard, Hubert, and Byleth travel to Enbarr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dialogue gave me fits. I might end up editing it later. Either way, I hope you all read and enjoy, and thank you for being patient!

Seteth stared across the hall at the space on the captain’s desk where the diary had been. He had been staring at that space for what felt like hours. Even if he burned those pages, he could not burn away his memory of their contents.

Jeralt’s diary described a difficult birth. A dead wife and mother. And a child who neither laughed nor cried. Who breathed, but had no heartbeat. Whose daemon was all but limp and dead. 

And, according to the journal, Rhea seemed completely unconcerned. Seteth looked over at his false daemon, the bearded dragon Flayn had given him with a laugh of, “Just like you, Father,” before they left the grotto and re-entered society. The lizard was busy scuttling around her enclosure, cramming as many crickets as possible into her mouth. Jeralt had taken the child and fled, raised her as far away from the church as possible. Even when Byleth returned, she had an uncanny air about her. And Rhea, usually so cautious, was distressingly eager to pile privilege after privilege, accolade after accolade upon this strange girl who knew nothing of the church. 

True, Byleth had proven herself more than capable in her role as professor. The students trusted her and she had a knack for working with them. Seteth himself owed her an eternal debt of gratitude for her central role in saving Flayn. 

Just who were those people anyway? He was starting to get the suspicion that they were some remnant of the Agarthans still plotting their vengeance. Whomever they were, they’d managed to infiltrate two nations on the continent  _ and _ the church. They had likely killed and replaced both Monica and Tomas, planted Jeritza inside their walls. They had massacred Remire Village, killed Captain Jeralt. And when Professor Byleth chased down her vengeance, well…

And this was where Seteth faltered. It was easy enough to know how to handle their enemies. The Agarthans had no morals, no limits. Whether they were indifferent to their atrocities or reveled in them, the outcome was the same and they needed to be stopped at all costs. But it was another thing when an ally was doing something ethically...troublesome. 

The students—no, every human in the monastery—were  _ frightened _ by Belial’s sudden transformation. They were so achingly similar to Sothis’s true form that it almost hurt to look at. No wonder Byleth had been bestowed the title  _ Enlightened One.  _

But that wasn’t supposed to happen to Belial. Belial was settled, their shape fixed for life. What’s more, a daemon was only ever one creature, not a fusion of multiple different beasts. But most disturbing of all was this implication of a fused daemon. From what Seteth understood about the humans’ anchors, or aspects, whatever the term may be, such a thing would be akin to somebody forcibly carving a second Crest onto his Stone. And  _ that  _ was repulsive beyond words. Yet Rhea was still delighted. Ecstatic, even. 

What had she done to that baby? She would not tell him, even when he shamefully lost his temper and raised his voice. The only thing she revealed was that Belial’s transformation was somehow critical to all their plans coming to fruition. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say  _ her _ plans. 

Seteth watched the bearded dragon bask in the wan winter light as he tried to put what he knew together. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not notice the door open or someone walk in until Flayn’s voice startled him back to the present. 

“Brother?”

“What is it Flayn? You weren’t harmed in that ambush, were you?”

Flayn sighed, and Seteth thought back to his conversations with Jeralt. Yes he made some good points about not smothering Flayn, but look where the captain ended up. He could not call it paranoia if there truly were enemies in the dark after him and his only child. “I am completely unharmed, but I am not sure I can say the same for my classmates, or the professor. Our enemies used a term that my classmates found particularly disturbing, to the point where I do not think it wise to acknowledge my ignorance of what it means.”

And then she asked the question that made the pieces start to fall into horrified place. “Brother, what does it mean for a human to be severed?”

* * *

Even when it was shoved in the closet, Byleth could feel that mimicry of Sothis’s regalia looming over her. It….frightened her, in a way that Hubert only wished he could have, when he attempted to intimidate her at the start of the year. 

She’d fled from Rhea’s room (her bed chambers! Why had it happened on the balcony outside her bed chambers?! Something about that seemed so wrong) the moment she was able to, racing towards the safety of her assigned quarters. But she could feel the students’ gazes on her the whole way back, in a way she hadn’t before. They’d stared at her and Belial at the start of the year, when they learned about their ability to separate without pain. Her students had almost gotten used to it by now, but nobody would have expected Belial to change so drastically. 

Her quarters were no sanctuary either. Byleth slammed the door behind her, stripped down to her small clothes, chucked the clothes in the back of the closet, and curled up around Belial. It wasn’t enough. The contact slowed her breath and mind but it felt...muted. Like when she poked at the mass of scar tissue making up her smashed knee. It has been like that her entire life, but now that Byleth realized this was not how things were supposed to be, it was impossible to ignore. 

And she couldn’t hear Sothis’s voice anymore. Sothis, her guide and friend for nearly a year, who had been with her in some fashion her entire life, was  _ gone _ . 

“She’s still here, sort of.”

“But I can’t hear her anymore. It’s not the same and you know it.”

Byleth curled around Belial, but it was all wrong. Their fur glowed gently, the color almost exactly that of Sothis’s hair. Their claws snagged in the sheets. Their  _ horns _ pressed cool and smooth into Byleth’s neck.

Sothis had fused with Belial, and she was apparently the goddess, or something, so what did that make her?

“I don’t want to be the goddess,” said Byleth. “I want to be Byleth.”

“And I want to be Belial, not a goddess. I don’t even look like me anymore.”

But Rhea was so excited about what happened for some reason. So excited that she...she…

Belial whimpered and pressed themself against Byleth, trying to replace the feeling of Rhea with their human. It helped, but only a little bit. 

Why did she do it? Rhea had treated her like...like a toy. Even if she had been able to say no, Rhea probably wouldn’t have listened. And now there was this mission to the Holy Tomb. Sothis didn’t say anything about a revelation! 

“If there isn’t a revelation, when what does Rhea want to do with us in the Holy Tomb? Byleth, I’m...I think I’m afraid. But we can’t say no, can we?”

“I don’t think so. I think whatever Rhea wants, Rhea gets. Nobody’s going to stop her.”

“Edelgard might. Edelgard would be so upset about this.” After all, wasn’t that what Edelgard was striving for? Her entire goal was to make a world where nobody would suffer the way she had, and she would have the power to do it as Emperor. Assuming that she could force the church to bow. 

“Edelgard is an unstoppable force of nature,” Belial said into her chest, “but Rhea won’t let anyone defy her. This is going to be bad.” 

“But if Rhea thinks I’m enlightened, or whatever? Maybe we can convince her?”

Belial made a small whining noise in the back of their throat. “I don’t know about that. Byleth, I feel like...like she doesn’t see us for  _ us,  _ you know, whatever we are? Edelgard and our students do. Dad did. If we say no she might get even angrier.”

Byleth sprung to her feet and paced around the room, the cold air curling around her mostly-bare body. The monastery suddenly felt like a prison. She couldn’t leave her students here without a teacher, and she couldn’t back out of this mission to the Holy Tomb. But right now, she couldn’t be in the monastery any longer. If she saw Rhea again right now, she didn’t know what she would do. 

Her dad used to think the world of Rhea, but then he was terrified of her, and now so was she. Fear for herself and her students. Anger and sadness at how crests hurt her students and what happened to Ashe. Those were the feelings Byleth now had about Rhea and the church. In comparison, when she thought of her students, she had thoughts of protectiveness. Pride at their growth. Love.

Which is why, when Edelgard asked to accompany her on a trip to Enbarr, Byleth was arranging to have her lectures covered by Manuela and Alois before she could even finish her sentence. If Rhea now brought to mind feelings of wrong and bad, her students—especially Edelgard—brought upon feelings of warm and safe. 

* * *

Byleth sat on one side of the carriage, Belial awkwardly spilling over the sides of a plush mattress on the floor clearly meant for Thanily. Thanily was in Hubert’s lap, who was on the other side of the carriage next to Edelgard. Avarine rested on a perch next to her, perfectly positioned for Edelgard to reach up and pet her. 

The carriage was clearly custom designed for Edelgard and Hubert. There were writing surfaces that swung out on hinges, and small compartments that held it snacks. There was space for another fox-sized mattress right under Avarine’s perch. Compartments under the seats housed various papers and documents. This carriage was custom-built for Edelgard and Hubert, and Byleth felt a little bit like an intruder. 

“Did it hurt?” Avarine asked, breaking the awkward silence. It shouldn’t have been awkward among the three of them, but Hubert and Edelgard were no fans of the church, and now she and Belial both bore its marks. Not to mention what Edelgard and Hubert had both endured. 

Edelgard shot Avarine a glare but didn’t say anything else. After all she had been just as harsh and blunt. 

Byleth and Belial looked at each other. “It’s...a constant ache, I guess,” she said. “But it’s all I’ve ever known, so I didn’t even realize it was anything wrong or especially unusual until, well, the same time you did.”

“You never saw it,” Belial said, their voice the same despite it all, “but my dad, and then I, called them the Bad Days. Apparently I followed orders but not much else. I didn’t remember much of the Bad Days, not even my own name.”

Hubert made a noncommittal noise, even as his fingers tightened in Thanily’s fur. “Now that sounds more on keeping with what we know of...well, I suppose we all know that of which I speak. Yet bad days imply good days, and in all your time at the monastery you have been present. Emotionally and creatively stunted, yes, but possessing an initiative and presence of self that the typical severed person lacks entirely.”

Sothis would have made some sarcastic remark about Hubert’s blunt remarks, but she wasn’t there to say anything anymore. So instead Byleth just nodded and said, “Before coming to the monastery I’d only have a few Good Days a month. But I don’t think I’ve had a single Bad Day since coming here.”

Edelgard hadn’t taken her hand off Avarine this entire time. “My teacher...thank you for telling me—no, us.”

Byleth nodded, but, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Hubert, why did you hide what Kronya did to you and Thanily from us?”

There was a pause where they both blinked, broken by a suppressed snort from Edelgard. “Well, that was direct,” she said. Though I wouldn’t expect anything less from my teacher at this point.”

“Neither would I.” Hubert leaned back with a sigh. “I suppose there’s no talking my way out of this, is there?”

“I’m also rather bewildered and disappointed in your reticence, so no Hubert, there isn’t. Why did you hide it? Don’t tell me it was for some foolishly self-sacrificial reason that would supposedly make my ambitions easier to attain?”

“Then I shall not.”

_ “Hubert.” _

“Very well. You have me cornered.” Thanily shifted deeper into his lap, white-tipped tail tucked under her chin, his gloved hand between that and the rest of her body. “Before I expound on the second reason, let me ask: what would you realistically have done, if I had told you? Would you have attacked Kronya? Tell me, how would you have done that without alerting our enemies, or further arousing their wrath? And this is completely ignoring any possible response from the Church.”

“They already attacked you, killed my dad, and tried to kill me. It would have just made them move faster. I would have made something work out.”

“And just how would you have done that, Professor?” Hubert asked. “While you may be excellent at battlefield tactics, your creativity out of combat is lacking, to say the least.”

That was true, but… “I would have talked to Edelgard. And if we’re going to discuss battlefield tactics then what about Grondor Field? If I had known what Monica did to you and Thanily, I wouldn’t have told you to go into melee and remind you of what happened.”

Hubert just rolled his eyes, though Thanily muttered something to him. “I will remember that for future battles,” he said. “Though it won’t matter in your case, since we’re about to graduate and go our separate ways, while you’ll remain at the monastery as a professor to the next class of eagles.”

“I’m not going back to the monastery,” said Belial. 

For the next several minutes, the only sounds were the carriage bouncing over the cobblestones, and the heavy patter of freezing rain.

The first to break the silence was Hubert. “I’m sorry, I believe I must have misunderstood. Did you just say you won’t be returning to the monastery?”

This was news to Byleth as well, at least consciously. And it wasn’t like she and Belial had ever spoken without words. And yet… “No, I can’t. I’ll finish the year to take care of you, but then I’m resigning. If I stay…” Just the thought sent those overwhelming feelings of  _ badwrong  _ crashing through her. “When I woke up, I was in Rhea’s bedroom. She’d dressed me in something, and was singing to me.” She didn’t want to say the last part. It was almost humiliating, and she was their teacher. She needed to be strong for them, and...was this why Hubert didn’t want to talk about what Monica did to Thanily? Then she needed to set a good example. “And she was petting Belial.”

Hubert and Edelgard froze. Thanily flattened herself against Hubert’s chest, and Avarine exploded off her perch with all the force of a loosed arrow. “WHAT?!”

She told them everything, and watched as her students clutched their daemons right, and quaked with rage. 

“That—that  _ witch,”  _ Edelgard spluttered, Avarine a ball of feathers and fury. “My teacher, I am so sorry.”

“I wish I could say I was shocked, but this is completely in keeping with her character, and the character of the church as a whole,” said Hubert. 

“I suppose this means we’ve all suffered the same...violation,” said Thanily. “Therefore, let me say that the other reason is because I’m Hubert and Thanily von Vestra. I’m supposed to be frightening.”

“And you believe what someone else did to you would make you less ‘frightening,’ as you put it.”

“Without a doubt.” Hubert pushed back his bangs, exposing the bright green of his hidden right eye. “I was utterly incapacitated. If someone were to learn of it…”

“Then I would tell them what happened to me, the Ashen Demon. It doesn’t change anything.”

Hubert didn’t say much after that, but Thanily and Avarine both approached Belial for the first time. They curled up together, three daemons sharing their pain. 

* * *

The carriage did not stop until they were within the interior of the palace itself, and Lady Edelgard had not even transferred Avarine to her shoulder when Hubert’s hand-picked attendants ushered them to the central chambers. Thanily kept her ears pricked for any potential threats, and Hubert allowed himself a rare moment of pride in his efforts bearing fruit. The bribery of guards, the forged documents, the careful balancing of favors and threats in turn, all of it in preparation for this moment. Their “allies” were busy assembling in Remire, waiting to strike. Meanwhile Lady Edelgard would be crowned with Duke Aegir and his lackeys none the wiser, and then their true work could begin. 

There was still the question of what their professor would do. Truth be told, just the fact that she was still an unknown factor was especially disconcerting. Yes, another person would say he was being paranoid, yet they would be revealing just how laughably naive they were. Trickery was in his blood, dark schemes woven through his entire life. For now, though, 

_ “Can we argue about this later, Hubert?”  _ Thanily hissed across their link.  _ “This would be a ripe time for hidden assassins. And if there are none, I would like to savor this moment.” _

What could Hubert do but agree? Besides; he was also all too willing to make better memories in this place. 

The last time Hubert had been in the throne room was shortly after the Insurrection. He would never forget the sight of his father looming over the Emperor’s defeated form, a threat rather than a guardian. Emperor Ionius’s daemon was a golden puma, frequently mistaken for a lioness by those who did not know better. She had once stood tall and sleek and proud. But that horrific day, when he learned that Lady Edelgard had gone missing and his father turned traitor, she was slumped under her father's daemon, four of her tentacles wrapped around her neck. A living collar to bind and chain the emperor while Duke Aegir’s daemon sat upon her paw in an utter violation of the natural order. 

When Hubert was a young boy, he’d wanted Thanily to settle as an octopus just like his father had. It was the perfect symbol of the reach and machinations, the many tasks of the Minister of the Imperial Household. After that day the memory made him want to vomit. 

Since that day, the emperor and his daemon were naught but a hollow shell of who they used to be. Even now, she was hollow-eyed, that golden luster dulled, fur threadbare and falling out in clumps. Emperor Ionius himself could have easily fought off the illness that slowly consumed him, but since the Insurrection he had decided to give up and waste away by inches. He sat crumpled, wheezing, a disgrace to the throne. 

The contrast between him and Lady Edelgard could not be more stark. For all her wounds and all her pain, she was unbowed, unbent, unbroken. The light and hope of not only Adrestia, but all of Fodlan. Where her father’s daemon was emaciated and unkempt, Avarine gleamed in the winter sun. Although Thanily kept her eyes and ears pricked for danger, Hubert allowed himself to listen. 

“Thank you, Father. Now, to complete the Imperial succession, you must relinquish your crown here in the throne room. The archbishop of the Church of Seiros would normally act as witness, but my professor will fill that role instead.”

Byleth blinked and stiffened beside him, the gesture as good as a profanity-laden shout of disbelief. Unbidden, the guards turned to look, or rather gawk, at their mysterious Professor and her twisted daemon, and Hubert found himself unexpectedly grateful. He and his peers knew better, but to the pious rabble Belial’s appearance could be nothing less than divine intervention. Therefore her presence was as good as the archbishop’s herself, and perhaps they could spin it as superior. 

“Edelgard..” Emperor Ionius fell into another fit of pained coughing, as his daemon pulled herself away from Avarine to make eye contact with Belial. 

“Professor Byleth and Belial Eisner, correct?” They nodded, and the puma daemon gave a quick tilt of her head in return. “Thank you, for watching over my daughter when I could not.”

“I’m proud to call Edelgard my student...and my friend,” Belial said, and something twisted in Hubert that he really didn’t want to examine. Perhaps Byleth could have been on their side, he would at least concede, but would there still  _ be _ a Byleth once Rhea was through with her? He could not guarantee that, and so until she proved otherwise the plan had to continue unchanged. 

_ “If she isn’t, then we shall defeat Rhea and her cult in her memory instead, along with all those who have suffered under the yoke of the church.” _

“Father, please...rest. From this day forward, the weight of the Empire's future shall rest upon my shoulders. All that I do will be for the benefit of the people of Fódlan.”

It had to, for her sake and the sake of all of Fodlan. 

Lady Edelgard knelt before her father, as she never would for anyone again, and Hubert’s hidden heart swelled with pride. 

Emperor Ionius and his daemon spoke as one, the same words passed down generation upon generation, unchanged from the original Wilhelm and his black eagle daemon to their eldest son. “Edelgard II and Avarine von Hresvelg, the crown is yours. By the covenant between the red blood and the white sword, and by the double-headed eagle upon your head, I hereby pronounce you the new emperor. Are you prepared to take those responsibilities as your own?”

And Edelgard and Avarine replied together,. “In accordance with the ancient covenant, and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy... I swear that upon this throne, I shall use my reign to lead Fódlan to a new dawn and achieve peace for all.”

Hubert knee just how heavy the crown was, but Lady Edelgard— _ Her Majesty— _ bore it without a trace of discomfort or complaint. She stood, and Avarine took her rightful place atop the throne as she was always meant to do. 

Hubert and Thanily bowed before Her Majesty, and one by one everyone else in the throne room joined in. Even Belial lowered their head, horns scraping against the ground, the rightful place of a church of lies and a goddess long dead, if she ever existed at all. 

The former emperor sat back down and coughed out, “The Imperial succession is complete.”  _ Now, our true work can begin _ . Let Ionius beg forgiveness from his daughter. Let Her Majesty accept it with far more grace than he deserved. None of it was meant for Hubert’s eyes or ears. He had more important things to do, such as—

“Your Majesty! You must not leave your sleeping chambers in your condition.”

Dealing with the odious little toad known as Duke Ludwig von Aegir. Thanily bit back a snicker. He was going to enjoy this. 

“Ah, Edelgard. I did not expect to find Your Highness here. I certainly hope you are not causing too much trouble at school. After all, it is vital to know one’s place in the world, and not try and rise above their station. 

_ Big mistake, Duke Aegir. It’s time you learned  _ ** _your _ ** _ place. _

A lesson that Lady Edelgard was all too eager to impart. “Prime Minister, you have misspoken. I am no longer ‘Your Highness’ but rather… ‘Your Majesty’.” Avarine leaned forward, white wings outstretched and mantled over the throne. 

“I-Impossible!”

_ Oh, it is quite possible, you power-hungry fool.  _ The plan had gone perfectly, if he had nothing more than a vague premonition or sense of foreboding. Now all he has to do was conceal it from Ferdinand until the ambush, which would be simple enough. As for afterwards...better to focus on other things not now. Such as savoring the downfall of this bloated sack of lard.

“It is true,” Ionius said. “Edelgard is the new emperor of the Adrestian Empire. We already have an ordinance prepared and ready to be released. And you, Prime Minister—“

“—Are dismissed,” Edelgard finished with the finality of an executioner’s axe. “Be thankful that you are so devoted to your family, for it will be some time before you are allowed to make contact with the outside world again.”

Duke Aegir did not disappoint, turning red as a beet from impotent fury while his daemon screamed uselessly. “No! How can this be?! I- _ ulk!” _

His prairie dog daemon still screamed, but this time it was the shock of being trapped under Avarine’s talons. In the space of seconds she had slammed into her, and now they rested lightly against the daemon’s throat, a reminder that all Avarine needed to do to end them both was  _ squeeze. _

There they stood, and let the tableau sink in. There was Lady Edelgard, the crown shining on her head. There was Avarine, mantled over the former Duke Aegir’s daemon, a gyrfalcon triumphant over her prey. And there was Ludwig von Aegir, hatred and disbelief on his face, slowly forced to his knees. “Understood, Your Majesty,” he spat.

_ “Ferdinand can never know about this,” _ Thanily thought, spoiling the moment. Still, it was no matter. Hubert gave a bow to Lady Edelgard as Her Majesty finished what would almost certainly be her final farewell to her father, and then slipped out. Rope and poison burned a hole in his pocket. 

“Vestra first, then Varley,” said Thanily. Hubert nodded and made his way to the nobles’ quarters. 

It may be work, but he was going to enjoy this. He could ruminate on the implications of the carriage ride later. 

* * *

They were held up for a few days thanks to the sudden appearance of her cycle, which always left her curled up in agony and would have made a full-speed carriage ride an exercise in torture. She would have endured anyway, but her teacher insisted on slowing down to give her traitorous body a chance to relax. By the third day she needed to force her teacher to not worry about her so much, that getting back to the monastery was much more important. 

Now, on the ride back to Garreg Mach, though she only wore the crown for a few minutes, her head felt oddly light. Would her classmates be able to tell the difference? How would they react to learning that Edelgard was now the Emperor, that she was about to wage war against the church? 

“I’m telling Ferdinand what happened,” said Byleth in her Teacher Voice. 

What? No! If Ferdinand found out he...well, there wasn’t much he could do, the Archbishop and her cronies wouldn’t have enough information to put her plot together until it would be too late to stop it, yet she still didn’t want him to know. 

_ “Because he’s going to consider it a betrayal, and so may Bernadetta,” _

Which was a foolish thing to get stuck on. She knew she might have to walk this path alone, she had Dorothea and Petra and Lysithea as unexpected allies, so why did the prospect of losing her other classmates sting so deeply? 

It wouldn’t change anything. She was the emperor now, and the ambush was already set in motion. For the sake of everyone who suffered, she would make a better world, no matter the cost. Her feelings and desires were utterly inconsequential compared to the fate of Fodlan. 

_ “El, she doesn’t agree with us! Have you  _ ** _ever _ ** _ heard of someone severed disagreeing?” _

No. She hadn’t. There was perhaps something of Byleth still in there. Something of a person whom Rhea had so casually—

“I’ll tell Ferdinand after the Holy Tomb,” she said, and at the very mention of their upcoming mission something in Byleth’s eyes went dark. “...My teacher?”

“I have to do this mission, don’t I?” Belial muttered. “You’ll be with me, right?”

She’d never seen her teacher so terrified before, and it was nauseating...no, it was beyond that. She was usually so confident, and Rhea had taken that from her too by treating her as one of her little puppets. “Of course.” Another pause. If she didn’t say something, now, she never would. “My teacher, can I talk to you about something important?”

Byleth nodded, and Edelgard took a deep breath. Even if she wasn’t about to explicitly spell out her plot, she couldn’t take back the words she was about to utter. “Remember I told you I plan to free Adrestia from corruption, and I would stop the nobility from feasting off the suffering of the commoners?” Byleth nodded. “I wasn’t going to stop there. I want to make a world where the strong cannot prey on the weak as a matter of course, and that by definition involves the church. I will do whatever it takes.”

And there it was. Would Byleth get the implications? 

Byleth went very, very quiet, and for a moment fear lanced through Edelgard. She’d argued about telling Ferdinand, she was able to dissent, so—

“At the start of the year, Rhea told me that she wanted to have you kill Lonato and civilian militia as a lesson about fighting the church.”

Edelgard remembered that all too well, especially the aftermath. The look on Ashe’s face alone would have been an effective recruiting tactic under any other circumstances. “Learned helplessness, I think I called it.”

She watched Byleth lean down and hold a whispered conversation with Belial. They were quiet enough that she could only catch snippets which held no context:  _ “—Dad always taught us to—“ “—Remember just how angry and upset she was?” “—I don’t think she would have wanted any of this.”  _

Until, eventually, Byleth said, “I never thought I would be a professor. But Rhea told me to lead you well, and I’ve done my best to do that. At least, I hope I’ve done a good job.”

“You have, my teacher. We all rely on you so much.” 

“Thank you. Since coming here; I’ve felt so many things that I’m still learning the names for. Anger and sadness at the way the world has hurt you all. This twisty feeling inside, that my dad raised me away from the church and all the ideas about crests, and how that may have saved me from the same pain. And how much I care about you all. You trust people more. Ferdinand thinks before he speaks. Bernadetta’s so much better about leaving her room. I care about you all Edelgard, so much. More than I ever thought I could.”

“I don’t know if dad knew how much I cared about him,” said Belial, “and now he’s gone and I can’t tell him. I don’t want that to happen with us.”

“That’s—my teacher—“ She wanted so badly to tell her everything, to beg forgiveness for whatever part, however indirect, she had to play in Jeralt’s death. But that final was the one wedge left that Those Who Slithered In The Dark had to drive between them both, and then there was the question of what exactly happened in the void. 

_ “There’s still something of Byleth in there. The same something of Byleth there always was. She already said she won’t ally herself with the church. Please, El, reach for her hand!” _

She couldn’t say what they had planned for the Holy Tomb. But she could say, “You know how Rhea will react when I stand against her.”

“I do.” And was that a snarl from Belial?

“I…needed to make alliances with some truly terrible people, just for the sheer power needed to take on the church. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me for that, and I understand if you can’t, but will you stand with me anyway? I...won’t need to rely on them as much, with you by my side. Even discounting that, it would mean the world to me.”

That was it. Oh, had she made a terrible mistake? Years of pain had taught her the folly of relying on anyone other than Hubert; months of kindness had taught her to try opening up again. Her classmates and teacher had wedged themselves into her heart, taught her that while she could forge the future with nobody but Hubert by her side, she would sacrifice something intangible of herself in the process (Hubert was her closest friend, her one true confidant, but there was a power gap between them which he had no intention of bridging). It was a sacrifice she was willing to make—for what was one woman, even if she were the emperor, against all the people of Fodlan both living and yet to be born?—but what if she didn’t have to?

“Edelgard.” Here it was. “I promised that I would lead you well. And beyond that, you’re important to me.”

“Remember when I stayed with you through your nightmares?” Belial asked, and how could she possibly forget? “Things haven’t changed. And if she were still here, she’d say the same thing.”

“If you’re trying to fix things, and Rhea makes me pick between her and you...then I pick you.”

There it was. She reached out a hand, and found another. Not a knife, not a closed fist, but the warmth of an outstretched hand. 

She wasn’t going to be alone. There was going to be someone standing her equal by her side. 

“My teacher, I—“

Byleth didn’t say anything, but Belial padded over and leaned against Avarine. She threw a wing around the wolf daemon, and despite the horns and green fur, it felt right. 

But she didn’t have time to truly reflect on the enormity. Because the moment they pulled up to the monastery, Byleth was all but yanked out of the carriage and led to the Holy Tomb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Edelgard has just told Byleth. Too late to stop the attack on the Holy Tomb, but...well, you’ll see.
> 
> And yes, Marquis Vestra’s daemon is a giant octopus.
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter; I might edit it in the coming weeks if I have a dialogue breakthrough.
> 
> Next up is an ultra-rarepair Big Bang! After that, I’ll see you around for the next chapter: _Throne of Lies._


	24. Throne of Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay and brevity of this chapter. It's been a very rough couple of weeks; one of my pets passed away and I've been dealing with this.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, even though it's short.

The buzz, the general haze of anticipation and apprehension hanging over the monastery did not abate with Byleth’s sudden time away. If anything, it only became more oppressive. 

When Claude was about eight, and answered to a different name, he and his family had vacationed at a beach resort when they were caught off-guard by a cyclone. He still remembered the way the sky was a yellow green, the air so thick and heavy that Simurg—who had spent most of that summer in the shape of one bird or another—said it made even the briefest flights a struggle. 

Hilda was right. This year had been just one thing after another, and it felt as if this supposed revelation from the goddess would instead signal a crescendo of a different sort.

“Why did they only let the Eagles in?!” Simurg whined from a dramatic dangle off his hands. 

“They are her students, so I can’t really complain. Honestly I thought Rhea would take Byleth there alone.”

Simurg continued her dramatics, flailing around in his hands in an act that would make Hilda-I'm-A-Delicate-Maiden-Who-Kills-People-With-A-Giant-Axe-Goneril proud. “True, but think of the secrets that shall be revealed! Divine revelations the likes of which prophets can only dream of! Or, you know, whatever Rhea’s actually planning.” She immediately righted herself, shot up his arm to drape herself in a loose coil around his shoulders. “I just wish we could sneak into the Tomb or something.”

What was especially frustrating was that that _ had _been the plan: skip class, make his way to Abyss, bribe someone down there, and take the tunnels to the Holy Tomb. But when Claude brought up the idea with Yuri, he’d been shot down. Yuri was uncharacteristically blunt about it too. He was a little bit vague on the details, but Claude was able to get an idea of what was going on. Apparently one of the runners down there had noticed evidence of movement, lots of it, in some of the tunnels away from the main “town”. The Ashen Wolves went to investigate, at which point Malka Foss took one whiff of some mysterious residue left down there and went scurrying behind Hapi’s legs. That was enough for Yuri and the rest of the pack. Everyone was on edge to start with, and if whatever was going through the tunnels was enough to disturb the famously unflappable Hapi, then it must be quite disturbing indeed. There had been an emergency meeting, and then a vote, where they had overwhelmingly decided to block off all access or travel to those outer tunnels until whatever this was decided to go away. 

The _ second _ vote was just as interesting. Apparently there was a long debate on whether or not to alert the Church what was slithering around underground. Despite the obvious danger, years of resentment and persecution had made the denizens of Abyss rather disinclined to help. 

“You know what the worst part is?” Simurg groaned. “I can’t even properly enjoy watching racists suffer the consequences of their racist behavior, because we’re in danger too.”

Yuri was a smart man, which was probably why he had told Claude as much as he did. As a surprise liaison to the surface, and a student of the academy to boot, Claude was likely Yuri’s most reliable opportunity to alert the authorities up top about the danger down below. 

He’d failed. By the time Claude figured out a foolproof scheme to tip off someone high-ranking in the church _ without _ getting himself involved or identified, Teach had returned and been escorted down there. 

“Which leaves us where we are now,” Simurg finished for him. “Sitting on a bench between the knight’s hall and the graveyard. Wishing we had some way to sneak in. Actually freezing your ass and my scales off. HOW CAN ANYONE SURVIVE THIS COLD?!”

“Generally by wearing a jacket. You have these things on your uniform, they’re called buttons? Maybe if you used them you wouldn’t be so cold?”

“And fuck you too, Zilbariel,” she shot back to Lysithea’s daemon. “I see you’ve decided to be an ermine today—nice matching color scheme. Since you’ve decided to be a glorified snake with fur, think you can give me some pointers? Oh, wait, I’m settled.”

“Everything okay, Lys?” Claude said in response to her rolled eyes and upturned middle finger. 

“Normally I’d make some sarcastic comment, but actually, no. I can’t help but think about Professor Byleth. What happens to her is...it’s not natural. I wonder what was taken from her in exchange.”

“I wonder if we’re the only ones thinking that question.” Perhaps Edelgard and Hubert, just as skeptical and scheming in their own enigmatic way and much closer to Teach to boot, were discussing that among themselves. But many of his other classmates were perfectly content with placing faith in the goddess and leaving it at that. Not Claude. He was never one for faith—especially not the faith of Fodlan—or leaving anything up to chance. He just wished there was a way to sneak down there without getting caught!

Wait a minute. “Lysithea, you’re practically an honorary Eagle. Do you think you could be part of their little entourage?”

Lysithea just shook her head. “If you think that wasn’t the first thing I tried then you really are stupider than you claim to be.”

“Love you too, Lys,” he shot back. “I don’t suppose you’ve been working on a spell to see and hear things from a distance?”

“...Actually…”

“...I was joking. That was a joke.” 

“I know, but…” She let out a great sigh which Zilbariel answered with a nod. Her daemon then took off running. 

And kept running past Claude, up a tree where he blended in with the snow until he shifted into a bright red cardinal. Several dozen meters away from a Lysithea, farther than any normal person’s range. 

“We’ve been practicing my four-eye. We do have a way to spy on them.”

The questions piled on top of each other in Claude’s mouth, but one look at the expression on Lysithea’s face told him this wasn’t the time. He could glean her secrets later. 

For now, Claude and Simurg stood guard over Lysithea as she meditated until that maple tree with gleaming sap just waiting to be tapped. One by one the other students trickled in, and one by one Claude fended off questions. Nobody else would get her secrets. 

And if anybody noticed the little moth perched in the upper corner of the lift down to the Holy Tomb, they paid it no mind at all. 

* * *

“Professor, do you recognize this throne?”

She did. The throne, green-tinted like everything else in this vast hidden space beneath the monastery, could only be Sothis’s. It still hurt, to see it empty. Sothis should be sitting on it, or perhaps lounging, feet dangling over the side in a manner entirely unbefitting the goddess and yet still undeniably _ Sothis. _ She shouldn’t be sitting on it, for she wasn’t Sothis. 

“So long...I have waited so very long for this day. Sit upon the throne, Professor.”

There would be no revelation, Byleth knew without being told. Sothis was gone. So why was Rhea so adamant about this. Belial whimpered, their tail tucked between their legs. They didn’t like this. Her students also fidgeted nervously; if Byleth could feel the tension then what about them?

Hah, she never would have thought things like this before. Her Eagles taught her as much as she taught them. 

She didn’t want to sit on the throne. But Rhea would never take no for an answer.

The throne somehow felt simultaneously familiar and foreign. How strange to see from Sothis’s— 

Byleth froze. She couldn’t move. _ She couldn’t move. _ Belial stood beside her, rooted to the spot as something welled up in, no, _ from _ the back of her mind, gripping her muscles, climbing up their bodies. She could only watch as Avarine cried out and flew towards Belial, desperately tugged at their ears and tried to get them to move, respond, do _ something _.

Could only watch as soldiers poured into the Holy Tomb and began to ransack the place. Could only watch as Edelgard revealed herself to be the Flame Emperor and reluctantly led the ambush. Could only watch as those Empire soldiers attacked her other students over Edelgard’s sudden pleas for them to stop. 

She needed to help them! She needed to move! But there was something in her, her muscles no longer her own. And then, suddenly, a voice_ . _

_ “No! Rhea, what made you think this is anything I wanted?! You are Byleth and Belial Eisner!” _

The feeling of hands on her shoulders, pushing her forward. The throne spat her out. Byleth’s head met the stone floor of the dais, and she blacked out. 

* * *

Lysithea was so deep in four-eye, so blindsided by seeing the events play out in real time through Zilbariel’s eyes while providing frantic live commentary, that she was completely unaware of the events going on up top. Perhaps that was for the best, because the semicircle around them both had erupted into absolute chaos. Claude’s head spun as he tried to make sense of these revelations. Rhea was directly responsible for Byleth being the way she was? Edelgard was the Flame Emperor?! This was, he thought they were playing backgammon only to have the board flipped to reveal a game of shatranj. He was flying in the desert without a map and a sandstorm about to kick up. He—

_ “Khalid!” _ Simurg’s voice echoed through his skull. _ “Claude, deep breaths. Okay. Okay, okay. Okay. New board, new game, new rules. First things first: what’s the most immediate effect? What are Edelgard’s goals?” _

_ “This means war,” _ Claude immediately said. “ _ Edelgard is the Flame Emperor. She’s been fighting the Church and just led a raid on the Holy Tomb. There’s no way this _ doesn’t _ end in war.” _

He had been so incredibly foolish, so wrapped up in his assumptions that he fails to consider even the most outlandish possibilities. True, the fact that Edelgard had made the Fuck Crests Club was a strong suggestion that she was looking to work through diplomacy rather than aggression, and he had a lot more to deal with than he had initially expected, but it was still an embarrassing oversight and a mistake he could not afford to make again. He couldn’t even afford to make _ this _ mistake, since now there was going to be a war and here he was, Claude and Simurg von Riegan, caught off guard as much as everyone else.

“Hang on, wait a minute,” Simurg whispered with a flick of her tongue. “Claude, didn’t Monica, or whatever she actually was, sabotage the club? And yet she’s working with them.”

“Doesn’t sound like she wants to,” Claude muttered. Lysithea had relayed what Zilbariel could see, and she had emphasized their peer’s extreme reluctance to attack her allies, how her attention seemed to uncharacteristically waver between her personal mission and whatever was happening to Byleth (and oh that was another entirely different sandstorm to forge through). “Hang on, there’s no way Edelgard didn’t know about Monica—no, Kronya—, but there’s also no way she was faking the amount of hatred she had towards Kronya or Solon either. Which means…”

“She’s working with those monsters out of necessity,” Simurg said. “And if Kronya was sabotaging her efforts to reach out towards us, they want to keep it that way. 

And yet— 

“Heheh. HehahahaHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

That was...Dimitri, but rather than being reserved and restrained, he sounded...deranged. His classmate had frozen in some combination of disbelief, confusion, and fury, and...yes, Felix and Dedue had split off to warily circle him, like they were trying to corral a raging beast. Or two, perhaps, judging by the wild look in Delcabia’s eyes.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?!” 

If only it was! But Claude had never, not once, heard a profanity fall from Dimitri’s lips. Or the kind of twisted broken laughter that tore itself from his throat like its own living thing. 

“There you are!” he cackled to the winter air. “So close and so far; I’ve been looking for you!”

Interestingly enough, Felix—who had always been the one to speak of Dimitri as little more than a feral beast—and Dedue were the only ones to not look upon Dimitri with disbelief and horror. Instead he looked almost...resigned. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

“Dammit, you stupid boar!”

“Your highness!” Dedue and Levia dashed forward with astonishing speed for their huge bulk, towering over Dimitri and Delcabia both, moving to cut them off. 

Dimitri shoved Dedue aside as if he were little more than balsa wood, Delcabia forcing herself past the enormous daemon more than double her size. 

“I’ll kill her!” Delcabia snorted and screamed. “I’ll tear off her wings! I’ll crush her traitorous skull under my hooves!”

“I’ll tear her head from her shoulders, and mount it on the gates of Enbarr!”

_ “Well, he’s snapped.” _

Well, fuck. Another massive miscalculation—Dimitri always struck Claude as someone who was wound up so tightly he might crack, but he wasn’t expecting something _ this _ dramatic. He would be absolutely useless in the war to come if he didn’t snap out of it, little more than the roving feral boar Felix always claimed he was. 

Simurg watched Dimitri run off ranting and raving while Claude retreated into his own mind, rapidly assembling the new game of shatranj he had been hurled into. If Dimitri didn’t snap out of it he would be completely unmanageable, with dire consequences for the rest of Faerghus. Wasn’t the regent a useless lout? And most of the missions and bandit attacks they were sent to put down this year were in Faerghus. The kingdom was already in a quiet simmering chaos, and seemed very unlikely to have any effective leadership that could rise to the occasion. For his part, Claude was certain that he’d be recalled to the Alliance. As much as he wanted to talk to Edelgard, finish their earlier aborted conversation and find out just why she felt she was forced to work with Kronya and her ilk, he was only the half-Almyran _ future _ leader of the Alliance.

_ “We can’t do anything dramatic until we consolidate our support and become the leader of the Alliance...when our grandfather dies.” _

The thought of...hastening...the latter briefly flitted across Claude’s mind, but he immediately discarded it. His grandfather was old and sick, and...interfering was excessive, to put it mildly, even for him. He was a schemer, but not like _ that _. He needed to further consolidate his alliance with Hilda and the Gonerils. Bring Marianne out of her shell—Hilda would also be vital here. Bring Lorenz to his side one way or another. And he needed to have a very long talk with Lysithea.

Did the Lions realize the full implications of what just happened? Sylvain probably did; he was much keener than he liked to let on. As for the others...

“Um,” Annette’s tremulous voice broke the stunned silence that hung over the student body. “Does Dimitri actually know where the entrance to the Holy Tomb is?”

An awkward pause. Then:

“Oh goddess fucking—come on Dedue. Maybe we can actually cage the boar this time. Goddess I hate being right…”

_ “They’ll find out in time,” _ Simurg thought. _ “At least this new game is interesting? I wonder what you’ll do, Teach? Assuming you’re still in there, that is.” _

Interesting. Hah, that was one way to put it. He’d be enjoying these developments a lot more if he weren’t actually _ living _ in them. 

* * *

Byleth, once again, came to with her face pressed against cold stone. Her head hurt, and not just from the probable concussion. She felt...tingly. In a pins-and-needles almost painful way. How many fingers did she have? How many toes? Ten, and ten. Where was her daemon? Where was Belial?

...Oh. Right. 

She was...she was in the Holy Tomb, with her students. Archbishop Rhea has commanded her to sit on the throne—Sothis’s throne, not hers, even if Sothis was gone it was still hers!—and then, and then…

Edelgard was the Flame Emperor. Was this what she had meant when she said she was working with horrible people?!

“She’s working with the people who killed our father. Why, Edelgard?” Belial howled. 

“Because she is a traitor,” Rhea said, her voice like ice. 

There had been a fight. She smelled...blood?! Her students! She had missed the fight, how long had she been unconscious, were her students okay?!

The Holy Tomb had become a battlefield, with bodies scattered and slumped over the ground and cracked-opened caskets. For some reason, crest stones gently glowed and pulsed within, with more placed on the floor before Rhea. Dread curled in Byleth’s stomach at the sight of the bodies and among her frantic headcount. Ferdinand and Bernadetta were next to each other, shock and fury on the nobleman’s face and terror on Bernadetta’s. Dorothea appeared to be dazed, and though for one terrifying moment Petra could not be seen, Ardior’s white body stood out amidst the gloom of the Holy Tomb. Linhardt appeared to have mentally checked out, standing small and lost while Runilite’s fluffy red tail could just barely be seen peeking out of an opened casket. Caspar was close to him, covered in blood.

Hubert sported a black eye and a wound on his forehead that bled freely, soaked his bangs and ran down his face. He roared Edelgard’s name and strained against the limits of his connection with Thanily, pinned to the floor by the black bear daemon belonging to one of the Knights of Seiros. And Edelgard…

Edelgard’s gaze locked on hers. She struggled to reach Byleth, or perhaps Hubert, but was held fast by two much larger knights and a snapped forearm bent in the entirely wrong direction. “My teacher,” she said, and the look on her face, the sound in her voice, was something she hadn’t ever seen or heard in Edelgard before. 

Was that sadness? Or fear? Or something else?

“It’s me,” she said. Edelgard hated these people, so why was she working with them—how could she stand it? Was their raw firepower that overwhelming? It had to be, there’s no other reason Edelgard would do it. She...yes, she told Byleth as much. She _ trusted _ her, in the end. She couldn’t let Edelgard down.

But Rhea wasn’t interested in hearing Edelgard’s explanation, whatever it might be. “How did you....Never mind that. I’ll figure out what’s missing later. Professor, kill Edelgard at once.”

Just moments after it restarted, the world stopped again. “What?”

Rhea’s face twisted into something she had _ never _ seen on her normally serene visage. “Wicked girl, you have defiled the Holy Tomb, dishonored the goddess, and humiliated your brethren. That crime will _ never _ be erased, even once you burn in the eternal flames and spill all of your blood into the goddess’s soil! You are a danger to all of Fodlan, and such a rebellious heart must not be allowed to keep beating!”

_ This will teach the students an important lesson about the fate of those who turn their blades against the church. _

There were her students. Hubert pinned down, Edelgard restrained. It would have been so easy for her to execute Edelgard—her own student—on the orders of the church. And the rest of her Eagles…

“You told me to lead my students well,” said Belial, so softly nobody but Byleth could hear. 

_ Kid, you’re about to enter the lion’s den. You may not be a lion, but you are a wolf. You need to find your pack. _

Something great and terrible welled up within Byleth, a swelling of emotion that she had only felt once before…

_ If you’re trying to fix things, and Rhea makes me pick between her and you...then I pick you. _

Ah, yes.

Rage.

Belial sprung like a loosed arrow, tackling the black bear daemon off of Thanily. She scrambled to her feet and raced back to Hubert’s side. A quickly-cast Miasma spell finished off the threat. The Sword of the Creator sliced through the air, tore open the throats of the two knights restraining Edelgard. They crumpled, and a blood-spattered Edelgard stumbled forward, freed.

Rhea roared, and Byleth howled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that happened. Dimitri was always going to snap; the moment he learned Edelgard was the Flame Emperor he stopped listening to anything else. But what's everyone else going to do?
> 
> We'll find out in the next two chapters. I am really looking forward to it, and I hope it'll make up for the weaknesses of this chapter!


	25. You Are My Pack, And I Will Look After You!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruling through fear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a blast to write, and I’ve had some of these scenes in my head for months. Thank you all for being patient, and please enjoy!

_If one is to declare themselves the arbiter of the Goddess and the sole arbitrator of divine decree, then they have a responsibility to use that power judiciously. While they cannot intervene in every possible matter, to fail to intervene entirely can only be described as a dereliction of duty…_

_ ...Any institution, be it private or public, religious or secular, must listen to the grievances of its constituents and adapt to change. A static institution is a doomed one. No matter how strong its shell may seem, the shell is frail; meanwhile, unnoticed, the original institution dies and rots away within. While the institution withers away, it will rebuff, often violently, any outside complaints or attempts to reform. Such a response may appear to be the only recourse to the stagnant institution, but all it does is increase the grievances and fury of its more numerous constituents, and make violent retaliation inevitable. _

_ —Excerpts from the opening paragraphs of The Manifesto, the combination official declaration of war, listing of demands, and exposure of crimes released by Emperor Edelgard II and Avarine von Hresvelg on the eve of the Fodlan Reunification War. An original copy of The Manifesto is on permanent display in the Enbarr Imperial Archives and Museum, and the concepts discussed therein provided the basis for the Rights of Men published and enacted several years later. _

* * *

Blood ran down his face, blotted out all vision on his right side, and dripped onto the floor. His face hurt with that deep ache that warned of a fracture. Thanily was still sore from where the bear daemon had slammed her to the ground and held her there. 

Hubert had never been so overwhelmed with gratitude, so delighted to be proven wrong, in his entire life. The Archbishop, so rigid she could not even conceive of defiance towards her, responses to them or ambush predictably commanded their professor to kill Lady Edelgard. Even though they were both restrained he still had a contingency, a plan to warp them both to safety and bury the loss of their classmates and peers under all the work to be done. 

Byleth had surprised him, yet again. When she remained fixed to the throne, when that wretched altar to a twisted religion changed her hair green and set her eyes aglow then vomited her back up, Hubert truly believed that Byleth was gone, that whatever force was behind the throne finished the job it started with Belial and completely obliterated their teacher’s identity. What was left would be nothing but some malignant force allied with the church. 

He was wrong. The being that rose up and cut the throats of the knights restraining Lady Edelgard was still Byleth, the warped wolf daemon who freed Thanily still Belial. Lady Edelgard’s foolishly naive gamble had paid off, and now they had the Professor—and the Sword of the Creator, possibly more important in all ways except that of morale—on their side. 

Would the rest of their class follow her lead? Would _ other _students? Look at him, waxing optimistic in the space between moments as Rhea’s shock turned to apoplectic fury, yet it was now a distinct possibility he could no longer dismiss as whimsy. He must have truly been stunned to do such a thing. 

Not everything could be a surprise however, and Rhea’s rage was almost disappointing in how predictable it was. “So, this is the choice you have made,” she spat. “You are just another failure. Your presence soils this Holy Tomb, and disgraces my brethren. I will not allow one who would lend our enemies strength to wield the power of the goddess Sothis.”

“You did this to me in the first place!” Byleth shouted. 

“It’s not your choice to make!” Belial cried out. 

“Silence, traitor! I have passed judgement. And now, I shall rip your chest open, and TAKE BACK YOUR HEART MYSELF!”

That was...evocative. And either oddly specific or layered in some sort of religious metaphor that Hubert never cared to learn—

Thanily’s voice cut to the chase. _ “Pontificate later; we need to escape! Look!” _

In mere seconds, to the horror of his classmates who had already formed a protective semicircle around Byleth at Rhea’s words (Ferdinand and Caspar at the front, Dorothea and Bernadetta behind them, Linhardt within healing range of the most likely target and Petra positioned to the side for easy flanking and retreating; their professor had taught them well), Rhea’s form changed. She quite literally shed the skin of humanity she dared to wear, multiplied many times in size. Wings and horns sprouted. Her soft voice twisted to a guttural roar. 

The capsule containing her praying mantis “daemon” fell forgotten to the floor. A scaled and taloned foot came down upon it, and there was no more mantis. 

Hubert found a chuckle bubbling from his lips. “My my, your true form at last. That must be the Immaculate One.”

“The one who saved Fodlan?!” Bernadetta cried out. 

“It would be more accurate to say the one who controlled Fodlan,” Lady Edelgard responded. “Rhea is their leader; imagine what other lies she has woven.”

“Perhaps we should imagine that later, when there is no imminent danger of being eaten. Everyone! Gather around me if you want to live!”

His classmates didn’t need to be told twice, and piled around the three of them so close that Thanily found herself pressed against Belial’s legs. 

“Words can not express my gratitude,” she said. 

A lesser mage would be dreading this spell. Dark magic-based teleportation was finicky under the best circumstances, and he was about to teleport multiple people to an unseen location several dozen kilometers away with a rushed cast. 

Hubert would gladly pick possible death by spell misfire over certain death by Immaculate One, and his classmates—his _ comrades _—seemed to agree. 

The spell sputtered and splintered as he extended its range, but Hubert forced it outwards regardless. True, he could easily just warp him, Lady Edelgard, Byleth, and their daemons, but abandoning the rest of the eagles was now suddenly unacceptable. 

Or perhaps it had been unacceptable for some time, and he only now allowed himself to embrace that fact. 

The spell finally bent fully to his will just as the Immaculate One’s throat began to ominously glow, and in a flash of ultrablack they vanished. 

And reappeared at least a dozen meters above a tree-studded field. 

“AAAAHHHH!!!”

“Shit! SHIT!”

The ground rushed up, dried grass and covered in bare trees and _ rocks _ that they were about to be dashed against he’d _ splatter _ and it wouldn’t be a quick death either no he wouldn’t be so lucky he was _ never _ that lucky. Faster and faster rushing up Hubert closed his eyes but could still the wind against him the earth pulling him down no ground against his feet _ help! _

Sharp talons digging into Thanily, Avarine grabbed hold of her. She would be safe his dear Thanily but _ he _was still falling far too fast the distance would tear them apart and once he hit the ground she’d die anyway—

A sudden powerful blast of wind. The unmistakable feel of Linhardt’s magic. They slowed, and then bounced instead of slamming against the earth. Hubert came to rest in an undignified heap of Black Eagles. The panic faded and left him a sweaty panting mess, vaguely aware of Belial shaking themselves off, Avarine gently depositing Thanily on a mossy rock, Ardior opening his beak and letting Runilite tumble out. 

“Okay,” moaned Caspar as he uncurled his body around Peakane’s portable tank, “Lin, you were right about teleporting. Ow.”

“That was very well done, Linhardt,” Lady Edelgard said as unruffled as ever. 

“Oh? A complement from Her Majesty herself. Best record this for posterity Runilite; nobody would ever believe it.”

“Hey now, Hubie saved our lives by teleporting us out of...whatever the heck that was.”

Calphour fluttered off Dorothea’s hat and hovered several centimeters above her. “Where exactly are we?”

“As far away from the monastery as possible, I hope!” Bernadetta shrieked, echoing everyone’s shock. 

They were about a half-day’s forced march from a mostly-forgotten garrison that would serve as their temporary base while preparing for the assault on Garreg Mach. But when Hubert opened his mouth to explain this, the words would not come. Instead he found himself weak and lightheaded, his limbs turned to jelly and his heart beating feather-light in his chest. 

Pathetic! He could not simply collapse here, even if magical backlash was inevitable and they were temporarily safe—

The taste of iron. Blood, trickling from his nose into his mouth. Well. That wasn’t good. 

At least they were safe. And with this last concession to his body, Hubert collapsed. 

* * *

“I can’t believe Edie actually did it.”

Which was silly, of course, as Cal loved to remind her. She’d always known that Edie was going to be the emperor one day. Heck, Edie had outright _ recruited _ her and Petra! Still, there was a difference between the abstract understanding that her classmate would be emperor and Edie actually _ being the Emperor she was directly recruited by the Emperor she _ flirted _ with the fucking _ Emperor _ holy fucking SHIT! _

That sentiment echoed back and forth between her and Calphour as he flew in tight frantic circles around her head. “Holy shit, if that were anyone else, we’re an orphan commoner how the _ fuck _ were we not executed?!”

Ardior, who had been watching quietly next to Petra, finally chimed in, “Why is this the thing which you are being most focused on? Edelgard has never been seeming...has never seemed to mind, and there are much greater worries now.”

“Because this is the only thing I have control over, and everything is just too much to wrap my head around at once!” Calphour dropped back to Dorothea’s open palms and forced down his ruffled feathers. “Sorry, Ardi. It’s just, it’s a lot, you know?”

Petras and Ardior seemed completely unruffled. There was a sort of calm and dignified determination to her, as if she had known this would happen all along and had long ago made her peace with it. She was so steadfast, so singleminded. Nothing would deter Petra, and Dorothea admired that in Petra. Edie too, which is why she chose to follow the Emperor. Even though, well…“It is, but we have been knowing this path for some time. Edelgard was recruiting us directly, and you were the one who was saying that this would be...would end in a fight,” Petra said. 

She had, true, but, “I thought it would be more of a slam reforms down Fodlan’s throat until the Church throws a tantrum and attacks sort of thing, not Edie raising an army and attacking first. Or Rhea turning into a giant monster and threatening Edie and Byleth like that. That was, I don’t think disturbing even begins to cover it.” She ran her fingers through her hair, Cal untangling the tiny knots that formed in the heat of battle and tugged at her roots. Even afterwards he continued to preen her hair and pluck out the loose strands. When she scurried in the streets the church would hand out sermons alongside their bread and soup for the destitute. They would preach of charity and benevolence, blind faith and restraint, and absolutely nothing that Rhea demonstrated when Byleth defied her in the Holy Tomb. 

How much of it was real? And how much of it was like the nobles, all nice words and empty platitudes to maintain control and ignore the actual pain that actual people were going through? She’d always suspected the answer was “a lot” but this…

Petra had trailed off, even as Ardior called down Calphour and threw a comforting wing over him. He, too, seemed slightly distant as Petra carefully picked out her words. “I think I finally have full understanding, of what Claude said.”

“What do you mean?” What _ was _ Claude doing? He and Petra had become friends over the course of the year, and Dorothea had talked to him a few times. He was definitely brilliant, and she got the sense of an actor about him. Perhaps not in her sense, but he definitely wasn’t as irreverent as he seemed on the surface. Or at least a trickster in a different way than he and Simurg bragged about being. There’s no way he didn’t hear at least some of what happened in the Holy Tomb, and he never struck her as a fan of the Church. Still, he was the heir to the Alliance and had his own obligations...what would he do? What did he want to do? 

“A few months ago we were discussing why the Church and Fodlan are being...are so suspicious of outsiders, and why the Church is allowing it. I believe I may be having another part of the answer.” Ardi flew up to a makeshift perch, made room for Cal. “In Brigid, many different spirits are worshipped. Some people worship the Dagdan gods. Others are followers of Seiros. But Fodlan, how do I say it, Fodlan..._ is _ the Church. The only people in Fodlan who are not following the Church of Seiros are not of Fodlan.”

“Rhea and the Church, all the nobles, they are wanting...obedience. They are wanting worshippers who will follow and bow.”

Which was something Petra would never do. “Witness Brigid pride,” Dorothea murmured, Petra’s mantra. She would _ never _bow, which made her a potential threat. 

Cal must have said that out loud, because Ardi nodded. “Because we will not be bowing, we may teach the people of Fodlan not to bow. Therefore, it is safer to be making the people of Fodlan afraid of outsiders, so they never...are never learning another way.”

“That’s...you’re right. That makes complete sense,” as sickening as it was to think about. The Church and nobility were both rotten to the core, and Edie was here actually _ doing _ something about it! It really was her dream, she’d follow Edie to the end, she should have been more excited about this! 

And she was! It was...it was just…

“I really hope our classmates evacuated.” Just fighting the knights she only had a passing familiarity with would be hard enough. 

“...Ah.” Petra softened, and for a moment Dorothea didn’t see Petra Macnery, her brilliant girlfriend, the heir and hope of Brigid but...simply Petra. A girl two years her junior who was forced to grow up far too fast. “I am hoping we do not have to fight our friends as well.”

* * *

“Hey, Linhardt, wake up.”

No response. 

“Linhardt.”

A snore from Linhardt. 

“Linhardt!” 

A louder snore from Runilite. 

Caspar glanced over at Peakane. From her tank, Peakane grinned back. 

Neither half of them was particularly partial to pranks, but Runilite’s reaction to Caspar dumping Peakane’s tank over her head never got old. For some reason, watching the red panda daemon shriek and leap a good half meter into the air from a sleeping lump on the ground, then run under Linhardt’s clothes to dry herself off while leaving Peakane to flop on the ground was hilarious every time. 

Linhardt stared at him, which didn’t work as well as it usually did when Runilite was a rapidly moving lump under his clothes and he smelled of wet fur and fish. “Congratulations Caspar, you woke me up from a very pleasant nap. I hope you’re happy. What do you want?”

“Why did you join us? You hate fighting.”

Linhardt just stared at him. Runilite popped her head up from the collar of his shirt and stared at him too. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight Caspar.”

“Hey, you were sleeping on a chair! And it’s barely afternoon!”

“When has that stopped us?” Runilite chimed in. 

Okay, that was a good point! Still! “You never do anything you don’t want to do. I mean, don’t get me wrong Lin, I’m super glad you’re on our side you’re crazy smart and great at healing and I _ really _ didn't want to wind up fighting you, but why are you joining us when you’re gonna end up fighting and killing and not just healing?”

“Thank you ever so much for the reminder, Caspar.” Runilite hopped out of his shirt and dragged some old towel over to a patch of sunlight, where she proceeded to roll around in it until dry as Lin continued, “And as to why, somebody needs to make sure Hubert doesn’t kill himself overchanneling his magic, because he seems to have a truly frightening lack of self-preservation.”

Of course that was it! He couldn’t help but grin even through Peakane’s slight sheepishness at not figuring it out sooner. Sure it would be nice if Linhardt just actually said what he meant out loud, but that was Linhardt for you. And it was okay. Caspar knew his best friend well enough to know what he was _ actually _saying underneath his yawning and pretending not to care. 

Which he was doing now. Probably. “If that’s all, then I would like to get some sleep before the medics drag me back to Hubert’s bedside, or perhaps to attend to Edelgard’s arm. Since apparently they’re all too intimidated to do the work themselves.”

“Actually, there is something else.”

“Of course there is. Well?”

“Um, well, you know how there’s been a lot of really disturbing stuff happening to our professor and her daemon, even before everything in the Holy Tomb? You didn’t seem surprised by any of it. What did you figure out?”

The look on Linhardt’s face was sort of like the one he had when he realized something in the back of his head, but the rest of his brain and his mouth hadn’t yet caught up. Usually when that happened Linhardt and Runilite would babble to each other until they figured it out. This time, Linhardt just asked him directly, “Do you remember the spyglass I got for my birthday?”

“Of course I do!” How could he ever forget the way his best friend glowed? Were Lin and Runilite glowing the same way right now? “Wait, where did it go?”

Runilite dove back under Linhardt’s shirt and curled up in a tight ball over his chest. “Byleth and Belial didn’t glow at all.”

“Wait, what? That doesn’t make any sense. You glowed, I glowed, even the buildings glowed. Are you saying that Byleth isn’t a person?”

“Of course not. But I believe the lack of a glow is related to her being severed, or perhaps her transformation. Likely both. There’s so much to research here, but I actually have no taste in doing so.”

“Too much like Remire, huh.” Lin had _ not _ taken that well. He didn’t say anything, but the way he went a little pale answered enough. Caspar couldn’t blame him; that had been...bad. 

Was Edelgard even working with them? She did fight with the in the Holy Tomb, but only sort of. Sure Caspar wasn’t the smartest but knew fights, he and Peakane were a born fighter! He knew about the difference between good natured scraps, tournament brawls with all their little rules, fighting in desperation or self-defense, fighting in defense of _ others _, and the kind of brutal knock-down drag-out fight of two people trying to kill each other with their bare hands or whatever weapons were in reach. 

Edelgard and Avarine didn’t act like any of those. She acted more like someone who didn’t want to fight, but had to. Or at least had to put on a good show. 

Rhea hadn’t done that either. Okay he didn’t know if giant monster dragon-thing body language was the same as human body language, and she didn’t have a daemon (?!) to help with the tells, but she acted an awful lot like someone completely lost in berserker rage. Which was _ seriously scary _coming from the Archbishop! 

_ “Then again, even though she acted all calm and in control, remember Ashe and Lonato?” _ Peakane poked at the back of his mind. 

Urgh, of course he did, even though he really didn’t want to. Peakane couldn’t vomit, but every time Caspar thought of the look on Ashe’s face she wished she could. Caspar leaned his head against the tank; Peakane swam up and placed a fin against the glass where his forehead rested. This was too big, and it had been going on for _ years _. He’d ask Linhardt, but Linhardt really didn’t care too much about these things. Besides, somewhere in his thoughts his friend had fallen asleep again without so much as a sarcastic goodnight. He must really have been tired. 

Caspar dipped his hand in the tank so Peakane could nibble at his fingers. He’d have to talk to Edelgard after her meetings, but for now all he could do was think. And his thoughts boiled down to this:

Rhea, and most of the church now that he really thought about it, only really wanted people to follow her teachings. He wasn’t the most religious guy but a lot of the monks didn’t treat Petra like the goddess said to treat other people! And that wasn’t even getting into what happened to Ashe, or down in the Holy Tomb. 

It was...he couldn’t wrap his head around it on one go, needed to break it down into smaller bites. But what he knew right now was that it wasn’t justice at all. 

Caspars hand curled into a fist, his mouth curled into a grin. Next to him Peakane fluttered her fins in a challenge. 

And that meant he had to fight. 

* * *

According to Linhardt, Hubert would fully recover in a week or two, casting included, so long as he never attempted that kind of teleportation magic again. 

Which was good, because Ferdinand did not wish to actually kill Hubert when he inevitably confronted him, no matter how tempting the prospect seemed. 

From what Ferdinand could glean, Edelgard gave the order, and Hubert did the deed. And nobody bothered to tell him until he asked after the chaotic disaster that was the Holy Tomb! There he was, a hopelessly blithe and naive spirit wandering the monastery, so blissfully unaware of what his father and family endured in the capital, completely blind to the true depths of Rhea’s rage and Edelgard’s ambitions! 

He...He was Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir. He had trained his entire life for the role of Prime Minister. His father was corrupt, true,which was why Ferdinand had made it his mission to take over the position and right all the wrongs! He would be the greatest head of state Adrestia had ever seen, superior even to Edelgard when she became emperor! She would need him for advice and counsel, and he would improve the lives of everyone in the empire, be a shining exemplar of what a noble could be! 

Meanwhile, behind his back, Edelgard took the throne, and she cast aside his father like he was nothing, tore the nobility from the von Aegirs with as much effort as one would swat aside a bug. 

“Or a bee,” Embrienne added miserably. 

He was Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir, the noblest of nobles! And now he was nothing.

“You’re not nothing,” Bernadetta murmured into his chest. She had essentially latched himself to him the moment that he stumbled back in their room and refused to leave without his explicit word. Malecki was there too, curled up around Embrienne, spikes out and protecting them both from the harshness of a world suddenly gone askew, and truly quite mad. “You’re not nothing,” she repeated, as if it were a protective spell, an abjuration that would ward him against all his inadequacies suddenly left exposed. Like some vulnerable animal flipped on its back with the veneer of confidence and facade of nobility stripped away, left to bake in the sun. “You’re still Ferdie and Embry, the same person who helped me out this entire year. I don’t know where I’d be without you, and that hasn’t changed whether or not you’re a noble.”

“Oh, my dear Bernadetta…” Truly, he did not deserve someone as gentle and kind as her! But no matter how many times he told her as such in his despair, she refused to budge. Perhaps it was hypocritical, given how much she tended to sell herself short, but right now he was in such shock and abject misery that he could not bring himself to fully realize and internalize it. “I do not know what I could have possibly done to deserve you.”

She could have easily gone home, especially since Hubert had arrested her father and stripped him of his power. That snake had taken it upon himself to deliver the good news to Bernadetta personally, perhaps the one action he had taken in the course of seizing power that Ferdinand could unreservedly approve of and support. 

_ “Except that her father is also under house arrest.” _

Ferdinand groaned. What a fool he was, to not remember that!

Malecki suddenly uncurled, leaving Embrienne shivering and Ferdinand wordlessly yearning for the contact and comfort once again. It returned seconds later, not with the hedgehog daemon curling around Embrienne’s form once more, but with a gentle grooming of her fuzzy body. Embrienne sighed and Ferdinand relaxed into the soothing repetition. Bernadetta was there, even though she should have been celebrating the downfall of her wretched blight on humanity that called himself her father. 

“I’m incredibly relieved, but it’s hard to really celebrate when someone I love is hurting so much, you know?” 

So he had taken that away from her too. Ferdinand, or maybe it was Embrienne, let out a low, miserable whine. 

Bernadetta paused from where she had been rubbing his back. “Hey, Ferdie?”

He glanced over at her “Yes?”

“Is this one of those things where you want to talk about it, or do you just need to cry for a while?”

He was still Ferdinand and Embrienne von Aegir! It was not noble to cry...even if he was not a noble any longer. 

“I think I might need both,” Embrienne said into Malecki’s paws. 

So Ferdinand talked, and piece by piece all his thoughts and feelings, his hopes and pains poured out. He spoke about how Ludwig von Aegir was a devoted and loving father while, simultaneously, selfish and corrupt to the core. How his beloved Embrienne has settled in the process of uncovering evidence of his father embezzling funds—and openly confronting him about it. The realization that his noble duty and general responsibility as a decent person would inevitably include a more decisive confrontation, and writing the wrongs he had inflicted upon his subjects. 

Or, in other words: his father deserved what he got and Ferdinand could not fault Edelgard and Hubert too strongly for that particular action. And it was not as if he would side with the church, not after all that transpired down in the Holy Tomb!

And oh, that sequence of discoveries by itself was horrific enough! To learn that the _ Archbishop _ had a direct role to play in their professor’s spiritual mutilation and otherworldly transformation that neither she nor Belial wanted or asked for? To learn that the church had, much like far too much of the nobility, degenerated into something so shamefully far from the ideals of espoused and forced upon others and decided to rule through fear instead? Such systems could no longer legitimately exist, or truly speak on behalf of the people they claimed they did. They did not even benefit their own, not when they so grievously harmed Bernadetta and likely so many other nobles. 

In that sense, Edelgard and Hubert were justified to depose his father and bring the other nobles to heel. And yet!

“It should have been me, Bernadetta. Oh, why did they not tell me? Why did they not tell me and then take everything away from me?”

Did they truly think he was such a threat, such a burden? Did they truly hate him so much? Or was he not even worth a moment's consideration to them?

“I thought Hubert and I, at least, had reached an understanding of sorts,” Ferdinand moaned. Malecki had not stopped petting and grooming Embrienne this entire time, and he clung to that soothing contact like a drowning man. Which, in some way, he was. He certainly felt as if he were lost at sea. “I could not imagine that he still held me in such contempt.”

“I...I don’t think that’s it, if that helps at all?” Bernadetta said. “Do you want me to say what I’m thinking, or would that just hurt you more?”

“No, please continue. You always have excellent insight.” 

“Well, I, okay hang on.” She peeled herself off him as she fiddled her hands together in thought, though Malecki still held tight to Embrienne. “Thing is, Hubert doesn’t really hide what he thinks of people. Once you get through his shell and know what to look for, I mean! So I don’t think he was faking that he, I don’t know if liked us is the right term for it, but you know what I’m trying to say?”

“I believe so?”

A sigh of relief. “Okay, good! Anyway, I don’t think Hubert was faking his feelings towards us, but I think he was trying to shove them aside so he could do his job.”

“Actually,” Malecki added, “I think Hubert is kind of like me.”

Embrienne recoiled. “What are you talking about?!” How could his gentle, kind, impossibly brave Bernadetta be anything like Hubert? 

Bernadetta flinched and Ferdinand mentally slapped himself. Yes, pain and grief and the never-ending scream of betrayal still tore through his body but that was no excuse for lashing out, even for a moment! “Please, continue. I am sorry for Embrienne’s outburst.”

“I...okay.” She sniffled, took a deep breath, and forged on ahead. “What I mean is that neither of us really trust other people. For me at least, other people mean potential danger, and it takes a lot to get past that. I think Hubert’s the same way. I think he’s so used to seeing people as threats to him or Edelgard that he can’t bring himself to open up to other people.”

“I was close enough to see the look on Thanily’s face when Belial knocked her away from that knight's daemon,” Malecki chimed in. “She was, well, she was stunned. I don’t think she or Hubert expected any of us to help her at all.”

Foolishness swept over Ferdinand once more, for when Bernadetta put it like that she made a compelling argument. “He could have easily left us at the mercy of the Knights, but instead teleported all of us to safety. At great personal risk, no less. So perhaps Hubert does care, somewhere in his withered heart.” For some reason, although the hypothesis was a balm to one wound, it pierced another just a little bit deeper. And the horrible feeling of having his identity torn away in an instant still yawned around him, a bottomless cavern from which he struggled to see any light or escape. “You are being remarkably charitable towards Hubert. I am rather surprised.”

“Heh. It is kind of odd, isn’t it? But I...oh no, please don’t take this the wrong way, Ferdinand, but—“

A kiss, to interrupt her concerns. “I could never, my little sundew.”

She relaxed against him. Her fingers ran gently through her hair, a repetitive motion that soothed them both. “Thanks Ferdie. I know you wouldn’t, I just, sometimes it takes my brain a bit of convincing. But I think I want to think the best of Hubert because I actually like him, and I care about him.”

Were this the start of the year, he likely would have been grievously offended, overwhelmed by jealousy, pain, and this other feeling that he could not—dared not—name. 

But now that Bernadetta mentioned it, what else could Ferdinand do but let realization creep over him like the sunlight Hubert so often sarcastically compared him to? What else could Embrienne do but say, “I think I understand,” and settle back into Malecki’s fur. Wonder, for a shameful treacherous moment, what it would be like to have a fluffy orange tail wrapped around them both, and ask for forgiveness. 

Because, at the end of the day, Hubert’s actions would not cut so deeply, would not leave Ferdinand bereft and crying out—to Hubert more than Edelgard—, ‘But why? Why did you not tell me? Why did you not include me?’ if Ferdinand did not care. 

* * *

The pain of the broken arm had faded, leaving behind vague soreness that turned to a dull ache when she overdid it, and the unbearable _ itching. _ Edelgard scratched hopelessly at the plaster, scratched the equivalent spot on Avarine’s wing, in the vain hope of tricking her mind into some relief. At least with magical healing it would be better in time for their assault on Garreg Mach. 

Oh, and of course it was her _ right _arm, so she couldn’t write down anything herself. Thankfully Ava had enough dexterity to scribble down personal notes and less formal correspondences with people who could read falcon scratch (Ladislava, for instance. The wyvern rider had more than proven her competency running security at her coronation, and had been promoted to head of Edelgard’s guard). For everyone else, Edelgard dictated her notes to Byleth, as Hubert was still under orders to rest from an unusually adamant Linhardt. It was odd dictating to her professor, and to not read Hubert’s immaculate handwriting, but Byleth’s would do. 

That, the presence of Byleth, that Byleth was _ here _, had truly chosen her after all...Even now, weeks later, Avarine still checked on her teacher’s room every morning, just to confirm that she was still there. 

Right now, however, the scratching of quill on parchment had faded to silence and...slightly harsh breathing? 

“My teacher? Is everything okay?”

Belial wasn’t beside her, but on the other side of the room. Actually, they resolutely refused to look in Byleth’s direction. 

Because Byleth was staring at herself in the mirror, and even with her flat affect there was no mistaking the expression on her face. Edelgard knew that expression because she had borne it for months on end. It was the reason she still covered her bare skin down to the fingertips, the reason she still preferred to bathe under cover of darkness, Avarine facing the wall. 

Byleth just raised her hand to her hair again. Her eyes glowed—did they glimmer in the dark now? Did Belial see a flash of shining green when they woke in the middle of the night? “...I don’t look like me.”

There was nothing, Edelgard knew, absolutely nothing to counteract that feeling of _ wrongness _in one’s own body. It was pointless to offer empty platitudes, and deeply insulting to boot—at least, to her. Yet, after it went so poorly last time, she had to say something.

“My teacher, you know that there’s no way I can possibly know what your experience is like, so I won’t try to pretend. But,” she added quickly, before what little emotion present on Byleth’s face could retreat once more, “May I tell you what I did, when my hair color changed?” 

“Of course.” Byleth tore herself away from the mirror and sat by Edelgard’s side. Belial picked themselves around the mirror and laid down next to her legs.

“I didn’t particularly care about my hair when I was a young girl. And for months after it turned white, I couldn’t look at it at all. I shaved it all off once, and wasn’t allowed to do so again. I would tie my hair back, hide it under hats...one time I slathered it in mud and paint. Thanks to Hubert’s help, I managed to dodge the servants for two whole days.”

It was impossible to think of that now, not when Byleth held up a lock of her hair, sleek and shining and brilliant white as the freshest snow. Byleth knew of the bottles and jars of products to make her hair perfect, had seen them herself. “What changed?”

“Well...Eventually I realized my hair wasn’t going to turn brown again, ever. At that point, I figured I could either be bald my entire life, or own it. Avarine’s form helped, since at least we match. But taking care of my hair and making it as luxurious as possible was one of my ways of telling my torturers that they couldn’t take everything from me. And if they did, I’d just take what was mine back.”

“We’re working on baring her scars,” Avarine added. “We’ll be able to do it one day.”

“Reclaiming my body…” Byleth mused, staring around her own hair. In the right light, the green looked like fresh mint. In this light, it looked like vomit. “It’s funny. I think that’s what I’ve been doing all along.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Though she had an idea. 

“...I’m Byleth and Belial Eisner. Rhea thought I was someone else. She wanted me to be someone else, and it would have been easy to give it. I may not look like me anymore, but...here I am. Still Byleth.”

“Still Belial.”

“We chose to walk with you.”

And oh, _ screw _ the meeting, _ screw _ the war council after that, right now Edelgard wanted to do nothing more than grab Byleth tight and never let go. To wrap her arms around her now-former teacher, kiss all the ferocity, the defiance and drive that made her into her, forget the world outside and just stay in this chamber a while longer, an eternity longer if they could have it. Oh, Byleth was such a kindred spirit. The two of them, Edelgard and Byleth, raised and disassembled and reforged into nothing more than tools for their creators’ whims. Tools who rose above their supposed masters and would recapture their _ own _ destinies. 

_ “They made us the Flame Emperor, but we carry our own fire,” _ Avarine added. _ And Byleth and Belial were mutilated beyond what any person should endure, then were molded in the church’s image, and they’re still here.” _

But as much as Edelgard despised it in that moment, she had a duty, and didn’t know how Byleth would react. “I...I can never fully express my gratitude. But I think we need to speak with the others now, right?”

Byleth jolted upright, her voice flat again as she said, “Yes, we do. I think they’ll appreciate it.”

Edelgard had already given everyone her rousing speech, her call to arms, and they had all responded in...She had expected to walk this path alone, with nobody truly faithful beyond Hubert and Avarine at her side. Yet not only Byleth, but all her fellow Eagles stood with her. She owed them an explanation—no, an apology. 

They’d already assembled in a side courtyard usually meant to practice close-range spells. Likely courtesy of Hubert, who leaned against the wall in concession to his still-healing injuries. 

Edelgard gazed upon her classmates and swallowed. The words that came so easily just yesterday now died in her mouth. 

“Everyone,” she finally said. “I truly cannot thank you enough for standing by my side, even now. I owe all of you an explanation, and an apology.”

“I should think so!” Embrienne exclaimed above Calphour and Malecki’s attempts to hush him. Avarine shifted guiltily; Ferdinand had lost the most, could have easily stood against her or absconded with Bernadetta, and yet here he was. 

“You’re right,” Edelgard said, and Embrienne landed back on Ferdinand’s shoulder in surprise. I am sorry that I deceived you for this long. And I am sorry that, if I were to do it over again, I would still conceal my actions—though not like this.

“Unfortunately embarrassingly few nobles have your integrity—” Ferdinand stood straighter at this remark, “—and you now know what Rhea and the Church are truly like. Hubert and I hid our plan because we had to. If Rhea had found out it would have been the end of us both, and suspicion would have been cast on you all as well. And as for diplomacy, well, those who act like she does cannot be reasoned with. For them, there can be no negotiation, so the only option left is force.”

She sighed. Was that prickling in her eyes? Was she about to start crying? “But that does not change the fact that I lied to you, and I deceived you. I couldn’t bring myself to reach out until the very end, and you deserved better than that. All I can say is that I am sorry, and all I can promise is that as Emperor—and, I hope, your friend—I will do better. Can you forgive me?”

There was a moment of gut-wrenching silence. Then, two high voices—one human, one daemon—answering in song. Edelgard knew that song. It had started as a way to tease her. Then, it became a rallying cry during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion...that was still embarrassing. 

And now, it was a pledge of allegiance. 

_ “Hail the mighty Edelgard, though red blood stains her story…” _

And one by one…

_ “Heavy as her crown may be…” _

They all joined in. 

_“She will lead us all to glory.”_

There was no mistaking the tears that shone in Edelgard’s eyes, the way her heart swelled.

_ “To a brighter dawn,” _

She didn’t deserve this. With her blood-stained hands and alliances out of desperation, she didn’t deserve to have so many friends by her side. 

_ “We shall carry on,” _

But they were here, despite it all. And she would do them—and all of the Empire—proud. 

_ “Hail Edelgard!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, and there are so many other possible conversations, but at some point I had to stop. Perhaps bonus content later?
> 
> And next chapter, oh _next chapter._
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Please, stay safe, VOTE, and I’ll see you all soon?


End file.
